The Pact
by GirlInTheMirror121
Summary: Ten members of the McKinley High Glee Club have had enough. Thus, a suicide pact was born. They must carry out their assigned tasks or face the consequences. Then again, they've suffered enough already. Who will live? Will any be saved? Time will tell.
1. Forword

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: This may be one of my most controversial pieces yet. Also, this is just an intro chapter, thus the length.  
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**Warning: This fic will contain multiple character deaths. If the subject of suicide makes you uncomfortable or squeamish, I highly suggest hitting the "back" button right now. **

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><p><em>We the undersigned of the McKinley Suicide Pact agree to the following:<em>

_1. You must complete your task within the day you are chosen for. No exceptions._

_2. You cannot choose the method that the person before you chose._

_ a. For example, if Person B selects hanging, Person C may not choose hanging as well._

_3. The leader of the group (and you very know who this is) will select the order in which you will die. They will be the last to carry out the deed. _

_4. No one must know of this Pact. Anyone who does reveal details of the Pact will be expelled from the group. _

_5. As members of Glee Club, you must select a song that will play as you are dying._

_ a. preferably one that relates to suicide or the abuses that you have suffered._

_ b. two people may not select the same song._

_6. Select your method of death carefully. If you should fail (i.e. botch things up), you will be expelled from the group._

_Good luck. We will meet again on the other side._

_Signed,_

_Rachel Berry _ **Santana Lopez **Artie Abrams

Sam Evans _Tina Cohen-Chang _ Mike Chang

_**Kurt E. Hummel **_Noah 'Puck' Puckerman **Mercedes Jones**

_** QUINN FABRAY**_

The ringleader surveyed the nine students before them. "Okay," they tapped their chin, lost in thought. "Artie, you will be the first."

He gulped. "Yes," he nodded quickly.

"Good," their leader smiled softly. "Your day is Thursday. Good luck. We'll see you on the other side."

**To be continued…**

**THE PACT**


	2. Artie: Whisper

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or "Whisper".**

**Note: Wow, I'm overwhelmed at the sheer amount of Alerts and Favorites that were added to this in just one day. At any rate, I think I owe a brief explanation here for those asking "where's Rory/Blaine/Sugar?". This takes place early season two (pre-Dalton), so they don't "exist" yet in the Glee world. Since Kurt has not gone to Dalton, Lauren Zizes is not in Glee Club yet. Finn and Brittany did not sign the Pact for reasons that will be divulged in later chapters. **

**Note: The songs will be set to the chapter, as if they are playing in the character's mind (and, as the Pact states, will be playing on repeat at the time of their death).**

**Warning: Again, suicide (though this one is not as graphic as some future ones). **

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><p><em><strong>Case File<strong>_

**Pact Member: Artie**

**Song: Whisper by Evanescence**

**Method of Death: Pills and Alcohol**

**Time of Death: 9:34 P.M. on Thursday, September 10, 2010**

**Last Known Words: "I'm sorry, Tina"**

_Catch me as I fall  
>Say you're here and it's all over now<br>Speaking to the atmosphere  
>No one's here, and I fall into myself<em>

Artie Abrams had had enough. "What teenage boy wants to live his entire life paralyzed?" He'd asked the group. "I can't do anything. I don't have anything to really live for. I'm never going to get my legs back. I just want it all to end."

He rolled into his house after school that sunny Thursday. "Hi, Mom," he mumbled to his mother as he rolled around the corner into his bedroom. He was lucky that his mother would be on the graveyard shift at the hospital that night and that his father was on a business trip. They wouldn't miss him much, he assumed. After all, his parents hadn't even seen that their son had been very, very troubled for a long time now. He picked up his journal and began to flip through it. Their ringleader had asked each of them to find a journal that they'd kept over the years—it was better if it was one that had been the chronicles of their pain—and read through it, writing one final entry before they died. As Artie paged through the worn journal, the one that he'd kept all throughout his freshman year. He blinked back tears, not wanting to be the one to cry, not now. His first year of high school had been an effective hell for him. 

_This truth drives me_  
><em>Into madness<em>  
><em>I know I can stop the pain<em>  
><em>If I will it all away<em>

He ran his fingers over his messy "scientist" scrawl, re-reading all the words that he'd written in his own hand. On his first day of school alone he'd been tossed into a Dumpster, had his glasses broken, and had a Slushee tossed in his face. Since then, the attacks on him had only grown worse. He'd been locked in a portable bathroom that was then tipped over, trapping him inside for hours without anyone helping him. He'd had money stolen from him in the hallway. He'd been pushed out of his chair and onto the floor. No one helped him; no one ever helped him, except for Tina. And when Tina did help him, it was only every once in a while, when it seemed to be convenient for her to do so. He'd tried to attract her attention, but she was more interested in Mike. Even Kurt, who'd claimed to be his best friend when they were children, had ditched him once he'd reached high school, a year ahead of Artie. But there was one thing he'd never told anybody, and never would tell anybody now.

He'd been gang-raped by the jocks.

That had been Artie's breaking point and what had ultimately made him sign the Pact. 

_Don't turn away (Don't give in to the pain)_  
><em>Don't try to hide (Though they're screaming your name)<em>  
><em>Don't close your eyes (God knows what lies behind them)<em>  
><em>Don't turn out the light (Never sleep, never die)<em>

He remembered that day, even without having to re-read the words that he'd written at the lowest, darkest point of his fourteen-year-old life. It was in April, not that long ago. In fact, it was six months ago to that day. He'd been rolling behind the school, attempting to go home. He'd dropped his notebook on the ground and sighing, leaned to pick it up, but it was just out of his reach. A dangerous, soft voice asked if he needed help. Artie foolishly nodded. The jock—a member of the football team, naturally—picked it up and handed it back to Artie. He asked Artie if he wanted to hang out with 'the boys'. Again, Artie nodded. He'd later regret that. Oh, how he wished he had said no! The jock—whose name Artie did not want to think about right now, lest he begin to cry again, and he couldn't cry; they weren't supposed to cry when they were about to do this—pushed his chair behind the bleachers, where Artie could see the rest of the football team had gathered. He hadn't found it odd at the time that the football team would be assembling like this in April, when football pre-season didn't even begin until August. Still, wanting to be popular and talk to the jocks civilly—that is to say, when they weren't making his life miserable—he thought nothing of it and waved to the group. They waved back, seeming to greet him, but then things took a dark turn. 

_I'm frightened by what I see_  
><em>But somehow I know<em>  
><em>That there's much more to come<em>

He felt a sinking feeling of dread as the jocks circled him and began to unzip their jeans. He realized what was going to happen to him, and tried to scream. Don't scream, they warned him. You scream, it will only make it worse for you. He trembled with fear as he was lifted from his chair and thrown on the ground. He cursed the fact that his legs didn't work properly, not enabling him to run away. He attempted to pull himself away using his arms, but was held down by one jock that he knew had been tormenting Kurt, too. No, please, he'd begged, but it was too late. His pants and underwear were pulled down with ease. One jock swiftly penetrated his ass, and Artie cried out in pain. Others were masturbating over him, covering him with sticky fluids. Every so often, one would force Artie to perform oral sex, and every so often, they would alternate who penetrated his ass. Artie couldn't feel it, but he was sure that he was bleeding. One or two of them even pissed on him, and Artie nearly puked out of disgust. But he did not cry out, not once, for fear for his life. After they'd finished, they left, satisfied and laughing, giving each other high-fives out of a successful humiliation inflicted upon "that cripple kid". Artie lay on the ground, battered and disgusted himself, coated in bodily fluids and left alone to cry.

_Immobilized by my fear  
>And soon to be blinded by tears<br>I can stop the pain  
>If I will it all away<em>

I find it ironic, he had written, that the jocks are always harassing Kurt because he is gay and open about it. And yet, they rape a man and are sexually satisfied with the acts. I wonder who the real 'fags' are in this situation. Oh, sweet, sweet irony…

He never told anyone what happened on April 10, 2010. He never told his parents, no Mr. Schuester, nor Kurt, nor Tina, nor anyone else in Glee Club. He did like them all very much; they were better people than he was. But he couldn't very well tell them now, could he? He was worried that the jocks might target one of them next, and he wanted that the least of all. After all, he didn't want to hurt his friends; just himself. But still, even if he did tell them, they wouldn't believe him. They would never believe him; it was their word against his. They were older, and they had reputations at the school which exceeded Artie's. It was true; he could have gone to the police. He could've even gone to the emergency room. But they would have found him and no doubt killed him.

It sure would've saved Artie the trouble of having to do it himself. 

_Don't turn away (Don't give in to the pain)_  
><em>Don't try to hide (Though they're screaming your name)<em>  
><em>Don't close your eyes (God knows what lies behind them)<em>  
><em>Don't turn out the light (Never sleep, never die)<em>

Artie placed the journal carefully where he knew the ringleader of the Pact could find it and take it to read to the others. They'd agreed to do this before signing the Pact. They all had one true secret that they had never revealed to anyone before; they'd only written it down and hidden it in a safe place. Upon their deaths, their secrets would be revealed, and thus would reveal why they had signed the Pact. He'd told their leader what method he'd selected ahead of time and given them a key to his home so they could steal away later and take the journal and cover any tracks that it had been a suicide in the first place, perhaps placing the blame upon a murder or a simple dying-in-their-sleep tragically. It was the perfect plan, he'd thought.

"Artie, I'm leaving now. Supper's in the oven for you," his mom called through his door.

"Okay, Mom. Have fun at work," he answered.

"I love you," she said.

"Love you, too," he replied softly. He listened for the sounds of his mother leaving before rolling to the kitchen and stealing one of the things he needed. He then retreated to the bedroom and felt under his bed for the stash of pills he'd bought. He'd been saving them for months now, waiting for just the right moment to use them.

That moment had finally come._  
>Fallen angels at my feet, whispered voices at my ear<br>Death before my eyes, lying next to me I fear  
>She beckons me, shall I give in?<br>Upon my end shall I begin forsaking all I've fallen for  
>I rise to meet the end<em>

Artie uncorked the bottle of vodka that he'd pilfered from the kitchen and set it on his bedside table. Then, he lay out all the pills and began to categorize them all by type.

Categorizing was something Artie had always liked to do.

He could sort his own life into categories: Before the Accident and After the Accident.

He could sort his friends into categories: True Friends, False Friends, and Wish-I-Could-Be-Their-Friend Friends.

From this, he could even break this down further, separating True Friends into two separate categories: The Pact and The Others, the Others being those who hadn't signed.

Even from this subcategory, he could create two more subcategories: Those He'd Miss and Those He Wouldn't. He counted Tina, Quinn, and Mike into those he would. He placed Puck, Santana, and Mercedes into those he wouldn't. Kurt, he'd decided, fell in-between those he'd miss and those he would not. Kurt was his own category, and Artie realized Kurt kind of always had been in his own category. He always kind of admired that about him.

Artie could separate his life into many categories. He liked to write them out sometimes and see which ones overlapped, if any. He was the Son. He was the Friend. He was the Student. He was the Wheelchair Kid. He was the Rape Victim. He was the Abused.

Yes, Artie liked categories, and it was fitting that he'd choose to categorize his own death in the methodical way that he did pretty much everything.

_Don't turn away (Don't give in to the pain)_  
><em>Don't try to hide (Though they're screaming your name)<em>  
><em>Don't close your eyes (God knows what lies behind them)<em>  
><em>Don't turn out the light (Never sleep, never die)<em>

Artie carefully pulled himself into bed, pushing his chair away, just in case. On second thought, he tipped it over; it would save the leader a bit less work when they stopped by later to hide the evidence. Leaning over to fix his iPod, he began to play the song he'd selected to die to, putting it on repeat. He settled into bed, and for a moment, wondered why they'd selected him to be the first to die. Was it because they hated him the most? Was it because he was the youngest of them all, even younger than Tina? Was it because, perhaps, they could feel the immense pain and weight from the secret he held so close to his heart resonating through his soul and body and decided to let him release that pain as soon as possible? He liked that last answer.

He took a deep breath and grabbed the first set of pills. He'd be taking twenty pills in all, and he'd put the medications in four groups of five. He decided to start with the biggest, as they'd be the hardest to swallow, therefore making the rest look easier by comparison. He took one down with a swig of vodka, gulping hard to get it all the way down. There was still time, he thought. I could stop now.

But he didn't want to stop. He couldn't stop.

_Don't turn away (Don't give in to the pain)  
>Don't try to hide (Though they're screaming your name)<br>Don't close your eyes (God knows what lies behind them)  
>Don't turn out the light (Never sleep, never die)<em>

He continued to take the pills, strategically moving through each pile, saving the muscle relaxer for last so that the slow feeling of total paralysis may come at the end. After he'd swallowed the twentieth and final pill, he took one last sip of alcohol to finish off the bottle. Things were getting bleary now, but he had one last thing to do before he closed his eyes and drifted off into unconsciousness. He took out his cell phone and sent a text.

**Artie: Just took the last pill. It won't be long now.**

**(512) 425-9821: I'll be there in half an hour. Don't be afraid. We'll see you on the other side.**

Artie clumsily put his phone next to him, hearing it drop to the floor. He didn't care if it was broken now. It didn't matter, anyway. He glanced over at the clock; it was a few minutes after nine. He figured he'd be gone by nine-thirty, at least. Ten, at the latest.

Artie didn't really believe in an afterlife. He wasn't like Kurt, whom he knew to be an atheist and with good reasoning. Artie was just too scientific to believe in things such as Heaven and Hell, which, logistically and in all practicality could not really exist. Nor did Artie truly believe in a Higher Being, although he was fascinated by the theory of reincarnation. He supposed if he had to come back as something or someone else, he'd want to be Albert Einstein or someone like that.

He could feel his pulse slow, and he closed his eyes, leaving his glasses on his face. Slowly, slowly, he felt his upper body sink into the bed until he was barely able to feel it anymore, much like his legs. His head felt wonderfully buzzy, and he tried not to smile to himself as he counted how further away his heartbeats were coming…

_Don't turn away (Don't give in to the pain)  
>Don't try to hide (Though they're screaming your name)<br>Don't close your eyes (God knows what lies behind them)  
>Don't turn out the light (Never sleep, never die)<em>

The leader entered the house at nine-forty that night. They used Artie's spare key to enter, quietly closing the door behind them. They quickly walked to Artie's room and opened the door, immediately seeing Artie's chair tipped over. They smiled; yes, it was one less thing for them to do. They saw Artie appearing to be sleeping peacefully on his back on top of the covers and slipped to his bedside, checking his wrist for a pulse. When they found none, they breathed a sigh of relief; he was gone and had carried out the Pact perfectly. They had expected no less of Artie, really. They smiled softly at the choice of song that Artie had selected; it, like him, was perfect. They had purposefully worn gloves as to not leave fingerprints that could be traced back to them, and they removed the bottle of vodka from Artie's bedside table, putting it in their bag and vowing to toss it in a recycle bin miles away, as to not put the neighbors at suspicion. They breathed another sigh of relief when they saw that Artie had kept his pills in a plastic baggie; good, then there were no pill containers to refill or that were laying in plain sight. They glanced around the room, spotting Artie's journal and slipping it into the bag as well. Then the leader proceeded into the living room, overturning a few cushions and moving things around so that Artie's mother might think the house had been robbed. Once they were satisfied, they exited the house, leaving the door unlocked behind them, to further cause suspicion.

After all, nobody could know that the Pact existed until they were all dead. 

_Servatis a periculum (save us from danger) __  
>Servatis a maleficum <em>_(save us from evil)  
>Servatis a periculum (save us from danger)<br>Servatis a maleficum (save us from evil)_

**To be continued…**


	3. Interlude 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: Yes, I know you're quite upset over Artie's death, but believe me; his is tame compared to some of the ones that are yet to come. At any rate, this chapter basically covers everyone's reactions to his passing and the selection of the next member of the Pact to die. Continue to review and know that I read each and every one of your reviews and love you for it!**

_The day after_

"A school-wide assembly?" Finn whispered to Puck. "What's all that about?

"Dunno," Puck shrugged casually. "Maybe it's one of those 9/11 things."

"Oh right," Finn remembered that it was September 11th. "But they've never had an assembly about it before. Why now?"

"Dunno," Puck shrugged again. "So, uh, practice this afternoon?"

"Yep," Finn nodded. "Three o'clock, don't be late."

"Right, quarterback," Puck mock-saluted him. Finn had just barely forgiven him for getting his ex-girlfriend pregnant last year. He was glad to have his best friend back.

Well, for as long as he was alive, anyway.

He knew exactly why this assembly had been called to order. He'd gotten a text last night that had read:

**Artie has completed his task. He is on the other side now. Meet tomorrow at seven.**

Puck knew that this assembly was to discuss Artie's evident death—which he knew was being passed off as an accidental death or murder—and to mourn his loss. He hadn't gotten to know Artie very well, and had admittedly picked on him, but stopped after Finn had discouraged him from doing so, after he'd joined Glee club.

He joined the other Glee club members in the gymnasium later that morning.

"Oh, God," Rachel groaned in his ear. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Calm down, my Jewish-American princess," he muttered in her ear. "We can't let on that we know about this already." She nodded. On his other side, Tina was biting her nails and looking as if she could burst into tears at any moment. He shot her a Look, warning her with his dark brown eyes not to betray them. She put her hands in her lap and began twiddling her thumbs, biting her lip to keep from crying.

"Students," Principal Figgins called them to order, a solemn look crossing his face. "I regret to inform you that a student of ours passed away last night." A hush fell over the gymnasium. Students began looking around, trying to figure out who was absent that day, wondering who could have died. "Arthur Abrams died sometime in the night. His mother found his body when she returned from her job as a night nurse this morning. It is believed that he passed in his sleep, though evidence in the house suggests that he may have been murdered by an intruder." Gasps arose from the student body, and Tina, unable to hold it in any longer, let out a low sob. Brittany, who was sitting between her and Santana, put her arm around the black-haired girl comfortingly. "If anyone wishes to speak to someone about this terrible loss, counselors will be available all day."

Puck sat in his seat numbly. It was one thing to read in a text message that someone you spent a lot of time with last year was dead, but it was another to actually hear it.

It was also another thing when you knew the truth about how he died, and were one of nine people who did know.

And suddenly, Puck was curious as to what had caused Artie to sign the Pact in the first place. He supposed he'd find out at their meeting later.

"I can't freaking believe it," Finn said incredulously as he shuffled into the Glee club meeting after lunch. "Who could've wanted to kill Artie?"

"Maybe he was chilling at home, or sleeping or something, and someone broke in. They panicked when they saw him and killed him, out of instinct. He was basically a sitting duck, unable to run away," Mike offered.

"I don't want it to be true," Tina sniffled miserably.

"Do you still love him?" Mercedes asked softly.

"Yes," Tina blew her nose. "And now he's dead!"

"He offered me rides in his chair when I was pregnant," Quinn said softly. "I always thought that was really sweet of him. It was a blessing with those swollen ankles."

"He was a nice kid, so smart," Rachel whispered.

"He was my best friend in elementary school," Kurt said wistfully.

"This is terrible," Mr. Schuester shook his head. He sighed heavily. "So I take it we're going to sing at his…funeral?"

"Of course," Brittany said. "He'd have liked that."

"Okay," Mr. Schuester clapped his hands. "You guys are dismissed for the day. I…I'm sorry, but my heart isn't here." He sighed and headed out the door, presumably to talk to Miss Pillsbury about what had happened. One by one, all of them left the room.  
>That is, except for the Pact's ringleader, who smiled to themselves softly. "They're such good actors and actresses," they said quietly. "I hope they can keep it up." They stood up and began contemplating silently which one of them they'd select next.<p>

_That night_

They all stared at Artie's journal, which sat in the middle of the circle they'd formed. None of them wanted to be the first one to open it. They all looked at each other, each silently daring each other do to do. Finally, Kurt picked it up and thumbed through it. He rested on an earmarked page. "April 10th, 2010," he read in a shaky voice. He cleared his throat. "April 10th," he said again. "Today was the worst day of my freaking life. I was…" he gasped, breath hitching in his throat.

"What?" Tina asked breathlessly. "What happened?"

"I was gang-raped," Kurt read, tears streaming down his face.

"What?" Santana gripped Puck's leg.

"Oh my God," Rachel clapped a hand over her mouth.

"I can't believe it," Quinn mumbled. "Poor Artie…"

"I…I can't read this," Kurt quickly dropped the journal on the floor, his hands shaking. His whole body began to tremble. "I can't read it…someone…someone else do it…"

"I will," Mike volunteered after a few moments of tense silence. He picked up the red journal and flipped to the page Kurt had left off on. "They said they just wanted to hang out. I can't believe I was so stupid as to fall for that. They threw me out of the chair and pulled off my jeans and my underwear. They began to rape me, all over. They said if I cried or screamed, they'd kill me. So I didn't. I had to lie there, quite literally paralyzed, and take it. Some of them even pissed on me. I was so disgusted. But nobody knows. And nobody ever will know. This is a secret I will take to my grave…which will be soon, with any luck." Mike closed the journal with a heavy heart.

"I have half a mind to go all Lima Heights on those idiots," Santana hissed.

"I didn't know you cared so much for Artie," Mercedes said to her.

"He was okay, I guess," Santana shrugged. "But there's never any excuse for rape."

"Puck, please don't tell me you were one of those jocks," Rachel closed her eyes.

"No," Puck's eyes were wide. "I never knew about this until now!"

"A likely story," she sneered.

"Guys, Puck only likes to fuck girls," Santana rolled her eyes. "Trust me."

"Believe me, I know," Quinn rolled her eyes as well. "I've got a baby to prove it."

"Leave Beth out of this," Puck said through gritted teeth.

"Guys, please stop arguing," Tina curled herself into a ball.

"Yeah, you're just upsetting her," Sam rubbed her back.

"You didn't even _know_ Artie," Kurt said shakily. "You just _got_ here."

"I can't take much more of this," Mercedes groaned.

"Yes," their leader clapped their hands. "Well, Artie was the first to successfully complete the Pact, but he certainly will not be the last. I say we give it two more weeks before someone joins him." They tapped the floor with their fingers. They'd made up their mind earlier that day, but this meeting that confirmed it. "Tina," they said sharply.

The Asian girl looked up, startled. "Y…y…yes?" She stuttered.

"You're next."

"Oh God…oh…" her lip quibbled. "Are…are you sure?"

"Yes," the leader nodded definitively. "Artie needs you, and you need him."

"Okay," Tina whispered. "When am I to die?"

"Wednesday after next," the leader told her. "Good luck. We'll see you on the other side."

**To be continued...**


	4. Tina: Alice Underground

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Alice (Underground).**

**Note: A bit more graphic than the last, but not too bad. I'm overwhelmed with the positive criticisms for this story and all the people who put it on Alert. Please, do continue to review. And yes, I do know the order in which everyone will be chosen.**

**Warning: Semi-graphic suicide. **

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><p><em><strong>Case File<strong>_

**Pact Member: Tina**

**Song: Alice (Underground) by Avril Lavigne**

**Method of Death: Jumping off Building**

**Time of Death: 11:23 p.m. on Wednesday, September 23, 2010**

**Last Known Words: "I'm coming, Artie"**

_Tripping out  
>Spinning around<br>I'm underground, I fell down  
>I fell down<em>

Tina Cohen-Chang hadn't always wanted to kill herself. In fact, it was only something that had recently cropped up. She hadn't realized it until a couple of weeks ago, when Artie's journal had revealed that he'd been gang-raped, that she knew she truly wanted to die. Just like him, she'd had a very, very sucky Freshman year of high school.

And just like him, she couldn't tell anyone else what had happened to her.

She had always been the quiet girl. She was the one who sat in the back of the classroom, praying the teacher wouldn't call on her. Her classmates left her alone, because they thought she had a stutter.

And in elementary school, that kind of thing automatically got you labeled as a freak.

Maybe Tina liked having people leave her alone. After all, she was painfully shy. She preferred to keep to herself, just a book or a drawing tablet to keep her content. Sometimes, she wrote poetry. She had always had surges of creative energy that pulsed through her veins, and liked to find outlets to use them in.

Which is why she wanted to die in one of the most poetic ways she could think of.

_I'm freaking out_  
><em>So where am I now?<em>  
><em>Upside down<em>  
><em>And I can't stop it now<em>  
><em>It can't stop me now<em>

Her parents never really paid that much attention, and Tina never expected them to or anything. See, Tina was adopted, to a Jewish woman and an Asian-American man. She was only eight months old when it happened, so she didn't remember anything about her stint in a Korean orphanage. All she knew were her adoptive parents.

Who, again, didn't pay much attention to her, or they'd know that she was severely depressed.

But then, no one knew what Tina had been through in the last twelve months alone.

Oh, she'd been close. She was so close to telling Artie what had happened, the complete and whole truth, but now Artie was dead and lying cold in the grave before she'd had the chance. Oh, how bad she felt for breaking Artie's heart! She hadn't meant to, really. She was just a little angry at him for being misogynistic towards her. She never meant to hurt him, or to push him over the edge. Upon hearing his last known words, she felt her own heart shatter into a thousand pieces (like it hadn't already). "I'm sorry, Tina". How badly those words had hurt! She had cried for days afterwards, until she was sure her tear ducts had run out of tears.

But now, as she was on a bus headed downtown, they started to work again, and she found herself crying alone in the back corner seat, curled up in a ball. She took out her black journal and began thumbing through its worn pages.

_I, I'll get by_  
><em>I, I'll survive<em>  
><em>When the world's crashing down<em>  
><em>When I fall and hit the ground<em>  
><em>I will turn myself around<em>

She'd loved Artie. Really, she had. How could she not fall for that warm, crooked smile? How could she not instantly feel her heart pitter-patter at his nice, strong voice? How could she not admire his nice arms, built up from all those hours of pushing himself in his wheelchair? How could she not adore his bowties and suspenders or his glasses? No, Tina loved Artie. She loved him when she first met him, and she still loved him now, and she'd continue to love him even after tonight, when she'd die. Maybe Artie had been her soul-mate, and she'd let him get away. She couldn't bear to think of him lying in his bed, as if he were sleeping soundly, when his mother came home to find him dead. Mrs. Abrams still did not know that her son had taken his own life, and she might not ever know it. Artie's journal had been burned after they'd read it, so there was no chance she could ever see the proof.

Tina could not imagine who could possibly want to hurt Artie Abrams in such a way that would break him into a thousand shards.

Then again, she could one-hundred percent imagine it.

She only wished she could've let him know that.

_Don't you try to stop it_  
><em>I, I won't cry<em>

She remembered everything about that night. Her mom had been out—Tina could not remember where at the moment—and Tina was stuck home with her Dad. That is to say, her Dad and her Dad's creepy, lecherous friends. She'd brought her report card in to show her father—something she'd been avoiding all day—and, as suspected, he was less than happy with her B+ in Algebra. She couldn't help it; Algebra just wasn't her thing, no matter how many times Artie explained the quadratic formula. Her father was even more displeased with her A+ in her art class. He'd always told her that art was not an acceptable career, something that you could not make a living off of. She bent over, fully expecting to get the belt, as she'd gotten occasionally over the years.

And, as expected, she got a few whaps across the ass with her father's belt.

But Tina had the misfortune of wearing a short black skirt and bikini brief underwear that day. Her father seemed to be enjoying punishing her a little too much. It was kind of creeping her out, especially how her father's friends were staring at her lustfully. She attempted to back out of the room silently, accepting her punishment and move on.

But of course, it didn't work that way. Did it ever?

_I found myself in Wonderland_  
><em>Get back on my feet again<em>  
><em>Is this real?<em>  
><em>Is this pretend?<em>  
><em>I'll take a stand until the end<em>

Tina finally plucked herself off the ground hours later. She'd been raped by all five of the men in the room, including her father.

Excuse me, her _adoptive_ father.

She felt disgusted as she tried to scrub off the dried semen that stuck to her inner thigh. She knew that in cases of rape, you weren't supposed to do that, as it was hardcore evidence. But she couldn't tell anyone about this. She'd be murdered for sure. It wasn't that her adoptive father was necessarily a bad person. He just believed in enforcing punishments upon children who misbehaved or did not perform up to his own personal standards in school.

And if that meant raping your daughter and having four of your friends do the same to teach her a lesson, then so be it.

Tina realized two weeks later with a sinking heart that her period was late. She stopped by the drugstore on her way home from school and secretly purchased a pregnancy test.

It came up positive.

She had three options. She could give birth to this child and keep it. She could give birth to this child—whose it was, she had no idea—and give it up for adoption.

Or she could have an abortion.

She quietly and quickly chose the third option. There was no way—no way in hell—she could give birth to a child whose father she did not know, especially one that was the product of not one rape, but several.

So she went, and she got the abortion with money left over from her birthday, and that was that. The problem was taken care of, or so she thought.

The thing with rape is, you never really forget it.

_I, I'll get by  
>I, I'll survive<br>When the world's crashing down  
>When I fall and hit the ground<br>I'll just turn myself around_

And thus, this was why Tina ultimately signed the Pact. Not just because she knew Artie was going to sign, and she did not want to live if he didn't, but because of what happened. She knew it was only going to happen again. That was just what her father was like. Once he'd taken her virginity, he'd always come back for more, and who knew what might happen next? She certainly couldn't afford birth control, nor did she particularly want to take it over and over. No, she was almost positive that she wanted to die, that she'd rather stop living than to re-live what happened to her that night for the rest of her life, however long or short that may have been. She got off the bus all the way downtown, at the very end of the line, and headed towards her destination, bag in hand that contained her iPod and her journal, as well as her cell phone. Her parents didn't know where she was. Only one person did, and that was their leader. Tina knew why she'd been picked second; because she couldn't go on much longer without Artie. She wondered briefly how they'd react to the things that had been written in her journal. Would they react the same way they had to Artie's confession? Would they want to gang up on her father? Would they cry for her, the way they had for him?

_Don't you try to stop me_  
><em>I, I won't cry<em>

Tina climbed the fire escape with ease, as she'd done in practice. It was twenty floors up, and this she knew perfectly well. She finally reached the top, her goal, her destination, and swung herself up onto the roof of the old warehouse. She looked down dizzily into the dark alleyway that ran alongside the abandoned warehouse and the one next door. Taking a few quick breaths, she grabbed her iPod and turned on the song she'd selected. It was the perfect song to jump to your death to, she'd thought. While she was rummaging in her bag, she sent off a quick text message:

**Tina: I'm here. I'm going to do it in five minutes or less, I promise.**

**(512) 425-9821: I'll be there in fifteen minutes. I'm waiting the next block over. Artie will meet you on the other side. **

Tina slid her phone away, breathing heavily. She bit her lip to keep from crying; no, she told herself. You're not supposed to cry when you do this. You're supposed to keep a brave face, to greet Death with open arms. She wasn't afraid to die, per se, as she believed in an afterlife. She just hoped that Artie would be there to greet her and kiss her, forgiving her for breaking his heart. Finally, she and her secret could be free, like an eagle. She positioned herself at the edge of the roof, thanking Artie profusely for giving her the correct trajectory in his journal that ensured that she would die. He'd helpfully put it and other suicide options at the end of his journal after signing the Pact in case it should help anyone else get to the other side.  
>She closed her eyes and spread her arms open wide.<p>

And she leapt…

_I, I'll get by_  
><em>I, I'll survive<em>  
><em>When the world's crashing down<em>  
><em>When I fall and hit the ground<em>  
><em>I will turn myself around<em>

The leader of the Pact slipped around the corner precisely fifteen minutes after they'd replied to Tina's text. Sure enough, they saw Tina's broken body lying facedown on the ground, blood pouring from the Asian girl's skull, staining the concrete below. The leader gently turned Tina over and watched for signs of breathing, feeling for a pulse to be sure that the girl was dead. She was. The leader climbed the fire escape to the top of the building and found Tina's bag at the top, securing the journal and Tina's iPod and cell phone. They checked the song that Tina had chosen; it was perfect beyond words. They smiled softly and put the items into their own bag, tossing Tina's down beside her for evidence. They climbed back down, catlike in their grace, and dialed 9-1-1 from Tina's cell phone, running away before anyone answered. They went a ways down the street, hiding around a corner until they heard the sound of sirens approach; the police had tracked Tina's cell phone number and coordinates, and had found her body. It would more than likely be framed as a murder, especially with what the leader read stealthily in Tina's journal on their way home. Yes, they decided, this one was easy to get away with. They just hoped Artie was on the other side to greet the broken Asian girl with open arms next to Death herself.

_Don't you try to stop me_  
><em>I, I won't cry<em>

**To be continued…**


	5. Interlude 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: Thanks for the reviews, my dear readers, but I'd love a few more, please. I'd also love to hear your guesses on who the Leader is, if you dare to wonder…**

"No," Brittany's eyes widened. "It's not true, Santana."

"It is," Santana shoved her hands in her pockets. "Tina was killed last night."

"But who would want to kill Tina?" Her blue eyes filled with tears.

"I don't know," Santana shrugged, although she knew the truth.

"I'll bet it was a gang of jealous rival vampires," Brittany sniffled miserably. "Just like in _Twilight_. Maybe it was like, a gang of black vampires or something."

"Tina wasn't a vampire," Santana rolled her eyes a little. "Hey, don't feel so bad, Britts. She's in Heaven with Artie now."

"I do want Artie to be happy and not all alone up there," Brittany wiped her eyes.

"And now Tina's with him," Santana said calmly and soothingly. "So really, you don't need to worry or be sad."

"This sucks," Kurt kicked an imaginary pebble.

"I can't believe two Glee club members are dead within two weeks," Rachel bit her lip to keep from either crying or telling everyone their secret.

"It's a little surreal," Quinn admitted. "Especially considering they had a thing last year."

"Wait, what thing?" Finn just looked confused and sad.

"Tina and Artie were dating, you numbskull," Puck hissed. "And now they're both dead."

"They were dating?" Sam looked surprised. "For how long?"

"Seven months and ten days," Kurt murmured. "She broke up with him."

"I feel like I just lost my best friend," Mercedes curled up towards Kurt.

"Do they know who did it?" Quinn asked.

"Yeah, 'cause I'd like to see them pay," Mike clenched his fists.

"No leads yet, guys," Mr. Schue let out a heavy sigh. "They just found her in an alleyway downtown. She was bleeding from the head. Her phone was next to her. That's all we know right now."

"I wonder if there's a serial killer in Lima," Puck mused. "I mean, think about it. Artie's house gets broken into and whoever did it freaking kills him. Then two weeks later, Tina shows up dead in an alley at like, midnight."

"If there is," Mr. Schue said slowly, "I'd like you all to stick close together, just in case."

Rachel shivered; it was as if the ghosts of Tina and Artie were lingering over her shoulder, whispering quietly to her. She turned for a moment, half-expecting to see them there. But they did not appear. Mr. Schue dismissed the group a little while later; none of them really felt like singing, anyway. Rachel opened up a piece of paper that had landed in her lap.

**Tonight, eight o'clock. Be there. **

* * *

><p>"So what was Tina's glitch?" Puck wondered aloud.<p>

"Yeah, what pushed her over the edge?" Mike asked.

"What was it that she couldn't tell me, her best friend?" Mercedes questioned.

"Here," their leader slid Tina's journal into the middle of the circle. Again, none of them wanted to be the first to read it. Sam volunteered to do so in the end.

"All that's written for this date she marked was 'I was raped'," he read.

"What?" Rachel gasped.

"And that's not it," Sam read on. "It was her _dad_."

"No," Mercedes shook her head.

"It gets worse," Sam looked grim. "She got pregnant from it, and got an abortion."

"Oh my God," Kurt muttered. "Poor Tina…"

"That's horrible," Quinn declared.

"I'd love to give her father a piece of my mind," Mike made a fist again.

"I bet he doesn't even care that she's dead," Puck said. "That bastard. Who rapes their own daughter?"

"She says here," Sam squinted to read her spidery handwriting better, "that she felt as if 'it would only happen again', and she couldn't handle it anymore. Also, she…what does this say?" He pointed at a scribble of words.

"She was still in love with Artie," Kurt clarified. "That was her pet name for him."

"Guess she didn't want to live without him," Mike murmured.

"Well," the leader said, clapping to get their attention. "I've made my decision on who is next." They all held their breaths. "Sam," they said. "Sam is next to carry this out."

"Okay," he clenched his jaw. "Yeah, I'll do it."

"Good," they smiled sweetly. "October fourth, then."

"Yes," he lowered his eyes.

"Then it's decided," the leader stood up. "Good luck. We'll see you on the other side."

**To be continued...**


	6. Sam: Mad World

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Mad World.**

**Note: Another one bites the dust, dear readers. Again, yes, I know who is going to die and when and how and why. I know all the songs as well. Please do keep reading and reviewing; I'm highly amused at reading your guesses as to what happens. **

* * *

><p><em><strong>Case File<strong>_

**Pact Member: Sam**

**Song: Mad World by Gary Jules**

**Method of Death: Hanging**

**Time of Death: 3:30 P.M. on Monday, October 4, 2010**

**Last Known Words: "Stay strong, Stacy and Stevie"**

_All around me are familiar faces  
>Worn out places, worn out faces<br>Bright and early for their daily races  
>Going nowhere, going nowhere<em>

Sam Evans was used to being the new kid in school. Maybe he was a little too used to it, but that was all he really knew: being the new kid in town. His father's job required them to move around often. The longest time they ever stayed in one place was a year and a half, during his mother's pregnancy and the aftermath of the birth of his twin siblings, Stacy and Stevie. But after that, they were off again to a new place.

And Sam was totally used to this.

He didn't always like it. Of course he never liked it all the time. He didn't like having to make new friends only to leave them six to nine months later. He didn't like having to redecorate his room every year—and what teenage boy does? He didn't like having to memorize a new phone number and address once or twice a year. He didn't like being ahead in some classes and behind in others. He didn't like having to buy a new wardrobe every time he moved from somewhere warm to somewhere cold and back again.

And he didn't like having to be the strong one. 

_Their tears are filling up their glasses_  
><em>No expression, no expression<em>  
><em>Hide my head, I want to drown my sorrow<em>  
><em>No tomorrow, no tomorrow<em>

He had to be strong for his mother, who also despised constantly having to pack up her house and then unpack it, only to do it all over again less than a year later. She was often depressed, and didn't have very many friends. Although they lived in a technologically advanced society, it was hard to make friends and stay in touch with them as you moved from one state to another. She was often left home alone as her children were off at school or sports or after-school activities. Her husband worked long hours, and wasn't always around. And when he was around, he wasn't really there, not always. Sam had to be strong for his mother, to keep her sanity in check.

He had to be strong for his siblings, for Stacy and Stevie. At the tender age of six, they were both a joy and a hassle to take care of. He was often assigned the role of babysitting, and most of the time, Sam didn't mind this. He liked hanging out with his siblings, even if they made a mess and bothered him when he was trying to do his homework. He just didn't like that his parents thought he was made solely for the purpose of taking care of them and expected him to watch over them at the drop of a hat. Yet, they were so young and not as used to constantly moving around like Sam was. He had to be their mentor, their tutor, their rock. 

_And I find it kinda funny_  
><em>I find it kinda sad<em>  
><em>The dreams in which I'm dying<em>  
><em>Are the best I've ever had<em>

Sam Evans lacked self-confidence.

Oh, sure, he was a star football player, but he was never around enough to play a full season of any sport, or to stay on a team for more than a year. He liked to play football, and was admittedly good at it, but the fact that he was always moving? Yeah, it didn't bode well for his status on any team. And sure, he was good at other sports. And yes, he'd willingly admit that he had a nice body, but it wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

Sam was dyslexic.

Of course, it wasn't that big of an issue. And why should it be? Thousands of children in the United States had the learning disability that caused the brain to sometimes read letters and numbers backwards. But to Sam, it was Mission Impossible Three. No matter how hard he tried or how hard he studied and did his flashcards, it never seemed to have much effect on his schoolwork or his grades. With the exception of things like Physical Education, he constantly was bringing home Cs, although he was a bright student. He was often frustrated and wanted to just give up, but when he thought of his two baby siblings, he found the strength to go on and work harder. Not for himself, not for his parents, but for his brother and sister, who looked up to him so much. 

_I find it hard to tell you_  
><em>I find it hard to take<em>  
><em>When people run in circles<em>  
><em>It's a very, very mad world<em>  
><em>Mad world<em>

Normally, Sam shared everything with his brother and his sister. But there was one secret he couldn't share with anyone.

Not since that day.

Not since that night.

Not since that person.

Not now, not ever. Well, especially not ever, as he was set to die that day.

Oh, how badly he wanted to tell someone in Glee club! They had all been so nice to him and taken him in readily. He liked them, he did. He even didn't mind Rachel too much.

But none of them would understand. None of them.

Except possibly Kurt, and even then, Sam wasn't so sure he wanted to tell him. Kurt exuded confidence, simply oozed it, and Sam knew he could never possibly even come close to matching Kurt's incredibly high standards.

So no, Sam couldn't tell Kurt. He couldn't tell Quinn, or Rachel, or Puck, or Finn.

If he couldn't tell his new friends, who could he tell? 

_Children waiting for the day they feel good_  
><em>Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday<em>  
><em>And I feel the way that every child should<em>  
><em>Sit and listen, sit and listen<em>

Sam Evans was gay.

Kurt was the closest to figuring it out, when he'd confronted the blonde in the hall about his hair color which Kurt swore "came from a bottle". Which, of course, had been true; Sam did dye his hair from time to time. But he was nervous when Kurt had approached him, suspecting that he was gay. Kurt would know, of course he would know; he was gay himself. But Sam didn't want Kurt to know that he was gay, too.

Not after that night.

See, Sam had been living in Ohio for awhile now. But he'd been at a high school in another part of the state.

And there was one other gay boy there, just one.

And he had asked Sam to the Sadie Hawkins Day Dance.

And Sam had said yes.

Of course he'd said yes; this boy was sweet and kind and very, very cute. So naturally, he'd accepted his invitation to the dance. He didn't tell his parents that he was going with a boy. His parents didn't even know that he was gay. In fact, no one but this other boy knew. And that was the way Sam liked it. As long as he had one true friend on his side, he was okay. He was safe. He was happy. His secret was free, to one person.

Sam got his first kiss that night at the dance, and it had felt as if he was flying.

He and his date waited in the parking lot for his date's older brother to pick them up. All was well. They were holding hands and snuggling against the chilly weather. A picture-perfect moment, really.

They never saw the attacks coming. How could they have seen it coming? All Sam knew was that he woke up in the hospital a couple of hours later, and the next week, his almost-boyfriend was transferring to another school across the state.

That's when Sam knew he could never, ever tell anyone about this again. 

_Went to school and I was very nervous_  
><em>No one knew me, no one knew me<em>  
><em>Hello teacher, tell me: what's my lesson?<em>  
><em>Look right through me, look right through me<em>

That's why he liked William McKinley High School so much. No one knew him there. No one knew his secret. No one knew what was lurking under his surface, which was a deep hatred and self-loathing of himself. He didn't choose to be gay. Who does? He didn't choose to have the living crap beaten out of him. Who does? He didn't choose to be carted around the country like a piece of cattle. Again, who does? No, he liked it here in Lima, Ohio. He was sure that no one heard about what had happened in the parking lot that night after the dance. He was sure that no one would ever know. He liked that the teachers, the students, everyone pretty much looked right through him, as if he were a blank sheet or a ghost. And that's what he felt like most of the time: a ghost. He was just floating through life, skimming the surface of the deep water that he did not want to tread into again. Even his parents looked through him, and he didn't mind so much now.

Would they even miss him when he was gone?

He'd sort of just stumbled upon this Glee club group at just the right moment, and had heard about the Pact through Artie Abrams, who was now six feet under, safe from the troubles and cruelties of this world, safe in his own Heaven. 

_And I find it kinda funny_  
><em>I find it kinda sad<em>  
><em>The dreams in which I'm dying<em>  
><em>Are the best I've ever had<em>

Sam rifled through his journal, filled with his messy boy-scrawl and misspelled words. He'd written every detail about the day and the night of the dance. He recalled with a painful surge of emotion everything he'd felt and thought that day. He remembered being excited as hell to be going to an actual dance with an actual date—and a very handsome date at that. Of course he'd lied and told his parents he was going stag and meeting a few friends there, but his journal, he'd told every last thing. He closed it and placed it beside him. No, scratch that, he thought, moving it to his bed.

He loved the dreams in which he died. He'd had a few of them now, and they always brought him great relish and joy. Most people would wake up screaming from such a dream, but Sam, Sam always wanted them to go on longer.

And now, those dreams were about to become a reality. He had to do it now, because Stacy and Stevie would still be in their various after-school activities, and his mother was out visiting his grandmother for the day. His father was where he always was: at work. Sighing, his mind set on doing this, he grabbed his phone.

**Sam: Going to do it now. Look after my siblings for me, will you?**

**(512) 425-9821: I will do that. I will be there in twenty minutes. Artie and Tina will meet you on the other side. **

Sam powered down his phone; what was he going to do with it now? He opened his closet door, dragging his desk chair inside. He took the rope out from under his bed, taking one last look around his bedroom. He hoped his bedroom in Heaven would look the same way, if not a little bigger. He set his iPod to play the song he loved most in the world.

He stepped inside the closet.

He climbed onto the chair.

He slipped the rope around his neck, tying the other end to the rafters.

And he stepped off the chair…__

_I find it hard to tell you  
>I find it hard to take<br>When people run in circles  
>It's a very, very mad world <em>

The leader arrived right on schedule. They ran upstairs, looking for Sam's bedroom. They came across a pink girl's room (Stacy's) and a master bedroom (his parents') before finding his at the end of the hall. The first thing they heard were the strains of the song Sam had chosen to die to, and they smiled; it was a nice song, a good one to take your last breath during. They found Sam's journal on the bed and tucked it away in their sturdy bag. They took a breath before peering into Sam's closet, where they found Sam's body dangling. It was enough to make their head spin around for a moment; why was this one hitting them harder than the last two? Still, they checked Sam's pulse; he was dead. They stood on the chair he'd used to get up there—closer to Heaven, they thought sadly—and untied him, his body collapsing to the floor. They tapped their fingers to their chin; how to frame this one? They started by unraveling the rope from around the blonde's neck, putting it away to throw away at a later time. Then, they laid Sam in his bed. There, they thought. There was nothing else to really do. He wouldn't have any drugs or alcohol in his system. He had no stab wounds or gunshot wounds. His wrists weren't slit, and his head was unblemished. Perhaps it could be framed as a murder by choking or strangling. Yes, they decided, that would work nicely. For good measure, they messed things up in Sam's room and a few of the other rooms in the house to again make it look like a break-in gone wrong, very much like how they framed Artie's death. With one last look at the blonde, they shuddered and left the house for good, vowing to keep their promise to look after his little brother and sister until they could take it no longer.

_Mad world  
>Enlarging your world<br>Mad world_


	7. Interlude 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: Ahh, Sam was hard to write. But to those of you who totally caught the Blaine reference, congrats! Cyber-brownies to all of you! I'm just loving you guys and your lovely reviews and your mad-guessing on what's going to happen next. Please keep doing these great things for me!**

"Sam was strangled?" Finn shook his head furiously. "No freaking way."

"Yes freaking way," Puck muttered. Of course, he knew that Sam's neck had snapped thanks to a length of rope and a high beam in a closet, but he wasn't about to tell Finn that. "I told you guys, there's a killer loose in Lima."

"Please, stick together," Mr. Schue pleaded the group. "I don't want to lose any more of you guys. Three is enough as it is." Rachel shot Kurt a worried look, and he glared at her to stop. "Lock your homes securely at night if you're going to be home alone, okay?"

"I feel so bad," Quinn said softly. "I mean, Sam's family moves from wherever to Lima, and their oldest son is murdered hardly a month into the school year."

"What do you mean, their oldest son?" Mr. Schue peered at her curiously.

"He had a younger brother and sister," Quinn explained. "Twins, Stacy and Stevie. His family goes to my family's church, so I saw them around."

"Oh my God," Rachel closed her eyes.

"That sucks," Puck put an arm around Santana, who pushed him away. "What?"

"Honestly, Puckerman. How would you like it if Sara died?"

"Leave my little sister out of this," his eyes narrowed at her.

"Wait, you have a little sister?" Kurt asked Puck. "I had no idea."

"And she's mine, so don't even think about giving her a makeover," Puck said firmly.

"Oh, fine," Kurt sulked in his chair.

"Stop the fighting," Brittany pleaded. "Artie and Tina and Sammy are dead…"

"We know, Brittany," Mike snapped.

"Lay off Britt," Santana whipped her head around to stare daggers at him.

"Lay off Mike," Mercedes rolled her eyes.

"HAVE WE ALL GONE MAD?" Finn stood up and shouted. "TWO—MAKE THAT THREE—OF OUR CLASSMATES ARE DEAD, AND ALL YOU CAN DO IS SNAP AND BITCH AT EACH OTHER?"

Everyone sat in dead, heated silence for several moments. Finn kicked the chair in front of him—Sam's chair, he thought to himself—and stormed out of the room, swearing heavily under his breath.

"Class dismissed," Mr. Schue said weakly, not sure of what to do or say anymore. One person he taught being murdered was one thing. Two people, that was another thing. But three people, in less than a months' time? Now that was something else altogether. He found that the members of his Glee club were acting very strange lately. They'd cried over Artie and Tina, but seemed immune to Sam's passing. Perhaps it was because they'd only really known him for a month, so they weren't as close to him. But then again, why all the fighting? Was the tension really mounting that high?  
>Of course it was. Three down, seven to go.<p>

_Later that night_

"Well, Sam's gone," Mercedes shrugged.

"I still find it strange that he was here for barely, what, a week before signing into a suicide pact," Rachel said. "What could've driven him so far?"

"Maybe he just wanted to fit in," Santana shrugged. "Popularity is dangerous."

"I think I know why," their leader said quietly. They threw Sam's messy journal into the center of their slowly-diminishing circle of followers.

"I'll read it," Puck volunteered immediately. "Whoa, dude had messy handwriting. Okay, let's see what made him go insane. I knew it!"

"What?" Rachel leaned in. "What is it?"

"He was gay," Puck grinned. "I knew he was!"

"I was right," Kurt breathed. "I was so right! My gaydar never lies!"

"So is that it?" Santana asked. "Sounds kind of…not right for our sick little group here."

"Looks like he got the crap kicked out of him after he went to some dance with some boy named—oh, I can't read it, he crossed it out, I guess," Puck shrugged, blasé.

"Still doesn't seem right," Santana stretched her legs out in front of her. "It's not as twisted and demented as Artie or Tina."

"You don't know what someone's been through unless you were them," Mercedes pointed out thoughtfully. "Maybe Sam took being gay and being harassed about it to heart. Kurt, any insight on this?"

Kurt pressed his lips tightly together. "Uh-uh. Not just yet."

"I wonder why Finn was so upset earlier," Rachel drew her knees to her chest.

"How should I know? Isn't he like, your boyfriend now?" Santana asked snidely. Quinn flinched noticeably.

"He…he didn't tell me," Rachel didn't quite meet Santana's gaze.

"Enough of this," the leader clapped their hands. "Chang!" Mike looked up. "You're too quiet over there. I think you should be next."

"Really?" He brightened a bit. "You mean it?"

"I mean it," they smiled sweetly at him. "How does October 16 sound?"

"Sounds great," he nodded. "Let's do it."

"Good luck," they nodded back. "We'll see you on the other side."

**To be continued…**


	8. Mike: Left Behind

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Left Behind.**

**Note: Oh my goodness, you guys are too good to me! I've broken 50 reviews—in fact, as of right now, I have an amazing 60-with just six chapters, which is HUGE for me. Thank you so much, dearest readers and reviewers. I know many of you are dying to know who the leader is and all that good stuff, but patience, my dears. All will be explained in due time. And now, Mike…**

**Side Note: If you're at all familiar with Spring Awakening, you'll get the reference behind the song and the significance of the gunshot method. **

* * *

><p><em><strong>Case File<strong>_

**Pact Member: Mike**

**Song: Left Behind from the musical Spring Awakening**

**Method of Death: Gunshot**

**Time of death: 7:35 P.M. on Saturday, October 16, 2010**

**Last Known Words: "Don't cry for me, don't mourn my loss, but remember my name."**

_You fold his hands, and smooth his tie, you gently lift his chin  
>Were you really so blind, and unkind to him?<br>Can't help the itch to touch, to kiss, to hold him once again  
>Now to close his eyes, never open them<em>

Mike had never really meant to sign into a suicide pact. But when the woman he loved signed into it—and only now did he know why she had—he jumped aboard. There was no way, absolutely no way, he could let her die alone. He just had to make sure she was met with arms wide open in Heaven. Of course, she was already dead, and no doubt happier with Artie than she would ever be with him, but Mike still wished that Tina had loved him as much as she'd loved the wheelchair-bound boy.

He didn't always love her. In fact, he never really noticed her until he had joined Glee club along with Puck and Matt Rutherford, whom he'd missed terribly. But as soon as he'd joined, the moment he'd walked into that choir room, his eyes had been trained on the beautiful Asian girl sitting off to the side, laughing with Mercedes and Kurt. He was instantly smitten with her. He loved when she smiled. He loved that she had her own sense of style and didn't try to fit in with the other girls, especially the cheerleaders. He loved when she sang, and even thought she was a better singer than Rachel. She was certainly more tolerable and likable than Rachel.

But Tina never loved him, no matter how much he wanted her to.

_A shadow passed, a shadow passed  
>Yearning, yearning for the fool it called a home<em>

So what was Mike to do?

The woman he loved was dead.

His best friend transferred to another school.

And to make matters worse, his father was being, well, his father.

Mike didn't have a good relationship with his father, suffice to say. In fact, he nearly hated his father. There was so much he wanted to do in life, but he couldn't, because his father was always standing in his way. And his father never listened! Mike could've strutted naked through the living room and recited the national anthem backwards, and his father still wouldn't care. His standards were just too high for Mike's reality. If he brought home anything less than an A in school, it was the belt for sure. Even if it was an A-; that was sure to get a good three whips with his father's belt. So Mike studied. That's all he ever did; went to football practice, went to Glee club, and studied. He'd stay up all night, studying for exams and doing work for his Advanced Placement classes. He knew it wasn't right; he'd just fall asleep in class or at practice the next day. But if he was able to avoid his father's anger, it was worth it.

_All things he never did are left behind  
>All the things his Mama wished he'd bear in mind<br>And all his Dad ever hoped he know_

What Mike wanted to be more than anything in the world was a dancer.

His father wanted him to be a doctor.

But Mike didn't. He didn't even really like science. But dance…dance, he loved. Dance, he was passionate about. Dance filled him up with happiness that nothing else in the world could bring him. Dance made him feel invincible. It made him feel as if he were flying, flying away from everything that bothered him in his daily life. So, Mike snuck into the dance classroom during his lunch periods sometimes, just so he could get it out of his system. Sometimes, he'd even sneak onto the stage in the auditorium and dance there. He liked that. He liked the expansive, black stage. He liked how wide it was, how rough but comforting its floor was. He liked knowing that no one could burst in on him if he closed the doors properly. He liked that he was naturally light on his feet and was strong enough to do lifts and trick moves in their hugely choreographed group numbers.

He loved the most when he got to dance with Tina that one time.

_All the talks you never had  
>The Saturdays you never spent<br>All the grown-up places you never went_

"Come on, Tina. Why don't you want me?"

"You know I still haven't gotten over Artie," she had tried to push past him.

"But I thought you two broke up."

"Yes, and I feel horrible about it still. I'm sorry Mike, but I just don't feel the way about you that I felt about Artie."

"I'd be so much a better boyfriend than Artie," he'd tried to convince her.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "But no."

"Is that 'no' as in 'never' or 'no' as in 'not now, but maybe later'?"

"It means never," she gritted her teeth. "I'm going to get Artie back, one way or another."

"He won't take you back," he said fiercely. "Not after you broke his heart."

"Oh, he will," her eyes were hard. "Even if I have to die trying."

Mike shivered at those words now as they replayed in his head. Every time he pictured Tina's body lying broken in that dark, lonely alleyway, he wanted to throw up. He wanted to scream and yell and go back in time and save her life and make her not jump, to make her somehow not leap off that impossibly tall building and fall, fall, tumble, stumble, fly to her death down below on the hard, unforgiving ground.

But he couldn't save her now. And now, he wanted to die more than ever.

_And all of the crying you wouldn't understand  
>You just let him cry<em>  
>"<em>Make a man out of him."<em>

"Michael," his father said sternly. "What is this?"

"I'm sorry, father," he bowed his head. "But that teacher hardly ever gives anyone an A in her class. I was lucky enough to get that B+."

"Do you know what a B+ is?" Mike shook his head. "It is failure. Yale will not accept students with a B+ in Advanced Physics. Harvard will not accept students with a B+ in Advanced Physics. Princeton, MIT…none of them will take students with a B+ in a class such as Advanced Physics. Especially when they are applying to the medicine program."

He sighed heavily. "I suspect you know what happens now."

"Yes," Mike swallowed hard. "I get the belt."

"I don't want to have to do this to you, Michael," his father stood up, undoing his leather belt. "But this must be punished." Mike undid his pants, exposing his bare buttocks. He bent over the couch and braced himself for the incoming force. One, two, three, four…oh, God, Mike bit the inside of his cheek as he realized he'd be getting the full ten whaps that night. "Don't cry out," his father warned. "Men don't cry."

_A shadow passed, a shadow passed  
>Yearning, yearning for the fool it called a home<em>

When he was a child, Mike always cried when he got punished with his father's belt. He never meant to, but when you're a little boy or girl getting spanked for doing something wrong—even if it wasn't always your fault—you're going to cry, no matter how tough you thought you were. But now, he never cried at it. He'd almost become immune to it. This was the first one he'd gotten in a while, though, and the hits came hard and stung something fierce. He scuttled up to his room a few tense moments after it had ended, and collapsed face-down on his bed. The pain subsided after some time, but nothing could compare to the pain in his heart.

The pain of a father who didn't love him enough.

The pain of a mother who turned the other cheek.

The pain of the girl who he loved, who was now six feet under.

The pain of a dream never to be realized.

He'd cried the night Tina died. He knew when she was going to do it, but he didn't know how or where. The news had hit him as hard as it had the people who were not part of the Pact. If only he could have saved her. If only he could've told her that he loved her one time before she died. If only he had jumped off that building with her, both free-falling to their deaths in each other's arms, safe in death and in Heaven's warm light.

_All things he ever wished are left behind  
>All the things his Mama did to make him mind<br>And how his Dad had hoped he'd grow  
>All things he ever lived are left behind<br>All the fears that ever flickered through his mind  
>All the sadness that he'd come to own<em>

Mike knew how he wanted to die. They all knew, he suspected. It was all pre-planned, deliberate, and intentional. That's what suicide was, wasn't it? It was pre-mediated thoughts and actions that were carried out. He'd had half a mind to turn Tina in when he learned that she was suicidal. He wanted to press a piece of paper into her hand that had the number of a suicide hotline written on it. He wanted to call them up and tell them that the girl he loved was in trouble, that she wanted to take her own life, and that he wanted to save her more than he wanted to save himself.

But he didn't. And he still didn't know why, entirely, that he didn't turn her in.

But when he learned of her secrets, her pain, something in him changed. He wanted to kill her 'father' and the men who had raped her. He wanted to bring her back, to hold her and tell her that it was going to be okay.

And now, he was finally going to see her again. Of course, she'd been with Artie for nearly a month now. He'd just have to fight him off and woo her all over again. He could kick back and toss a football with Sam, if he wanted to. He slipped out to his backyard. No one was around. They lived on a dead-end street, and he knew their leader was stationed very closely by so that they could frame the death accordingly. He sent off a text to them as he queued up the appropriate song on his iPod.

**Mike: Going to do it a minute after I receive your reply to this.**

**(512) 425-9821: I'm only two minutes away, and I can run fast. Go. Artie, Tina, and Sam will meet you on the other side.**

Artie. Mike gritted his teeth at the boy's name. He knew he had to act now, to act quickly and swiftly.

He took the gun out from where he'd stashed it.

He put the barrel into his mouth, enjoying the cool touch of it.

And he pulled the trigger…

_A shadow passed, a shadow passed  
>Yearning, yearning for the fool it called a home<em>

The leader flew to the scene of the death exactly sixty seconds after they'd sent the message to Mike. They reached the house in record time, hopped the fence, and rushed to Mike's side. Blood was pooling around him, and they knew that if the neighbors had heard the gunshots, it wouldn't be long until sirens sounded. They grabbed the gun with their gloved hand—so that their fingerprints wouldn't show up on it—and hurriedly put it away, making note to return it where Mike had found it in the first place. Then, they found Mike's journal next to his iPod. They were puzzled over the song choice Mike had chosen; he wasn't the theatre type of person, but they supposed it could fit, as it was a song sung after a suicide. Hearing sirens in the distance, they sprinted towards the fence, leaping over it again and running off into the distance, heart pounding in their ears as they fled the scene of their classmate's suicide.

_And it whistles through the ghosts still left behind  
>It whistles through the ghosts still left behind<br>It whistles through the ghosts still left behind_

**To be continue…**


	9. Interlude 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.**

**Note: Wow, I'm getting closer to 100 reviews! Wanna help me make it happen? At any rate, the next death marks the half-way point in the story. Please continue to read and review this story. Again, I read each and every one of your reviews and love your guesses.  
><strong>

"We have reports coming in of a boy from McKinley High School who was shot and killed this evening at his residence."

William Schuester sat straight up in bed. "Oh, no," he whispered.

"Michael Chang, a junior at McKinley, died around 7:30 this evening from a gunshot to the head. No weapon was found around the scene of the crime, leading investigators to believe that this was not a suicide. We'll have more details on this murder—the fourth of a McKinley student this fall—in the coming hours."

"I can't believe it," Will said to himself as he dialed a number. "Emma? Did you…oh, you did. I…yes, I know, the fourth of one of my students. What? Of course I don't know who…the kids must be so devastated. We'll talk later, Emma. I need to let the shock set in. Wait, who's that? Oh. Carl, right. Well, you two have a nice night. Bye."

What was he to do? His students were being killed right and left by an apparent murderer. Tina's skull had cracked, Mike had been shot, Sam had evidently been strangled…but it was Artie's death that puzzled him the most. The boy did not have a scratch on him; so how did he die? He sighed heavily. He hoped there were none to follow them to the grave. Four was enough; he couldn't bear the thought of losing any more.

_The night after_

"I don't think I want to know," Rachel warily eyed Mike's journal. "The others were bad enough. I can't bear to know what Mike went through."

"Well, let me read it," Puck picked up the obviously-new journal. "He didn't write in it much—it only dates back like, a year—but I guess his dad was a real hardhead and would beat him up with a belt if he brought home bad grades."

"Oh, that's sad," Mercedes murmured. "With a leather belt? That's horrible. No parent should ever lay a hand on their children or hit them with any object."

"But he was a straight-A student," Kurt said confusedly.

"Guess his dad didn't like that B+ he got in Physics or something, so he got like ten licks with the belt. Across the bare ass. Ouch," he flinched. "Normally that would be kind of kinky, but not when it's a father doing it to his son for like, no reason."

"What else is there?" Quinn asked. "There must be some other reason."

"He really loved Tina," Puck sighed. "He wrote her name all over. Wished he could've saved her when she killed herself, but couldn't. Or didn't. Something about how Artie got her in the end and how they were meant to be."

"Well, they kind of were," Santana pointed out. "No one wants to see Asian-on-Asian. Asian-on-wheelchair was way hotter." They all looked at her. "Okay, so they clearly really liked each other, and Mike couldn't get in the way of that."

"At least his death was quick," Rachel pointed out. "Didn't they say he died pretty much…you know…instantaneously?"

"Yes," Kurt nodded. "You know, once the next person goes…"

"…half of us are gone, yes," Mercedes finished for him.

"Well, in that case," the leader said. "Why don't we do one more in a month, and then the rest next year?"

"Sounds fair," Santana said. "So, who's next?"

"Mercedes."

"Okay," she cast her eyes down. "So…when?"

"November 20," the leader told her.

"Got it," Mercedes closed her eyes.

"Good luck. We'll see you on the other side."

**To be continued…**


	10. Mercedes: The Wreckage

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Wreckage.**

**Note: The song itself is much shorter lyrically, so if this looks choppier than all of the other chapters, that's why. Again, thanks for all of the reviews. Five down, five to go, I suppose. In a morbid sort of way, I'm enjoying writing this story, but I think I enjoy reading your reviews even more. **

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><p><em><strong>Case File<strong>_

**Pact Member: Mercedes**

**Song: The Wreckage by Vanessa Carlton**

**Method of Death: Car crash**

**Time of Death: 8:01 P.M. on Friday, November 20, 2010**

**Last Known Words: "My Lord, Jesus Christ, I go to You now, into Your open arms as You welcome me into Heaven."**

_Speeding into the horizon  
>Dreaming of the siren<em>

Mercedes had never dreamed that she'd be signing into a suicide pact, not in a million years. She never thought she'd want to take her own life and risk her soul to eternal damnation. She never imagined that she'd be losing all of her dearest friends to the same fate. She couldn't have conceived of a thing such as a suicide pact in the first place. Surely, that was something that only happened in books or movies. That had to be something that you just heard about on the nightly news. They didn't exist in real life. They were just too grisly, too surreal, too deliberate and methodical. It was like something out of _The Virgin Suicides_, a book that Mercedes had enjoyed, and a movie that she and Kurt had watched together at a sleepover once upon a time ago. In it, five sisters had committed suicide, and four of them did it in an evident pact, just like the one Mercedes found herself caught in now. The book had stuck with her long after she'd read the last words on the final page. It was so breathtakingly beautiful, and she loved the author for it. Why couldn't her own life be that tragically beautiful?

_Wishing for her broken glass on the highway_  
><em>It could be so easy<em>

She never wanted any of it to happen. She never meant for it to happen.

"I can't believe it," Kurt said through his tears. "It's so…beautiful."

"Yes," she sniffled. "It just goes to see how much of a bond can exist between two or three people. Just the fact that they'd want to all die together like that…"

"…it's powerful," Kurt finished for her. He turned to her, a sudden fire in his eyes. "'Cedes, what if we were…what if…what if we were like _them_?"

"The Lisbon sisters?" The crease between her brows folded. "What do you mean?"

"What if we created a suicide pact?" His eyes were impassioned, his pupils dancing with a newfound light and desire. "You, me, some of the others…what if we were to do it?"

"Kurt," her dark eyes, the exact opposite of his, widened. "That's insane!"

"We wouldn't do it alone…it could be so poetic, so tragic…_The McKinley High Suicides_," he said dramatically. "We'd go down in Lima history, 'Cedes."

"Kurt," she breathed. "No…I couldn't kill you."

"You wouldn't be killing me," he said fiercely. "I'd be killing me."

_The rhythm, rhythm of an engine_  
><em>Always makes me empty<em>

She managed to talk him out of it, but just barely. The very idea, the very spark of an idea of a suicide pact, had made him come alive like she'd never seen before. And now, a mere four months later, his name was signed on the dotted line in the same flair that Kurt did everything. And hers was written right next to his.

How had this happened?

Was it because she didn't want him to die alone?

Was it because she _couldn't_ let him die alone?

Was it because she was just as messed up as the rest of them?

Well, yes, she didn't want him to die without her. He was her best friend…well, besides Tina, and Tina was dead now. And yes, she couldn't let him die alone. But she wasn't sure if she could live up to the standards set by the four who had gone before her. She hadn't gone through the hell that Tina and Mike had with their abusive fathers. She hadn't been gang-raped like Artie had. She wasn't secretly in the closet—or had been gay-bashed—like Sam had.

So what was it?

What had pushed Mercedes Jones over the edge?

What made her want to take her own life at the age of sixteen?

It went a little something like this…

_I see the headlights coming at me_  
><em>I can't help but wonder<em>

She'd had a sister. Oh, she'd had a beautiful little baby sister. Kyla had been everything that Mercedes wanted to be when she was her age. She was strong. She was tall. She was beautiful, and everyone adored her.

And she died a little after she was born. In fact, she hardly lasted a day before she died because she had too much fluid in her lungs that they couldn't get out at the NICU.

And they'd all been devastated.

But no one had been more devastated than Mercedes. She'd been looking forward to having a little sister, someone who could look up to her and who she could play with and teach how to sing and be a true diva. Someone who could love her unconditionally and who would be her best friend forever. Someone who she could buy "sister" things for and take shopping and tell stories about love and heartbreak to.

But then Kyla was gone, gone before anyone really got to know her. She was a beautiful, beautiful baby. She was the product of much love and labor. In the brief time she'd been alive, Mercedes saw in those dark, tiny eyes everything she ever wanted to be and everything that she'd ever wanted for herself. 

_Flying, flying in slow motion_  
><em>Wind through my hair<em>

It seemed like a stupid reason to kill herself, she realized now. She hadn't told anyone about her baby sister that never was. They never noticed how one day a year, she just shut down and didn't want to talk to anyone. She was only ten when it had happened, and now, six years later, it was all hitting her. She would never have the services that Kyla had after her death. She would never have the sheer amount of mourners that Kyla had. She would never have the amount of familial love or comfort. Ever since Kurt had wanted her to form a pact with him, he had been distant and not quite there. She had no idea why he wanted to die so badly, and she supposed she never would, seeing as how he was going to die after her. Would he think she was petty for killing herself over feeling like the family's ghost? Would he think it strange that she died because she would never have her mother's love like Kyla had, like Kyla still had, six years after her short life? 

_And ripping through the scenery, oh, the wreckage_  
><em>It is my secret need<em>

Mercedes grabbed her car keys. She had to do this now. There were no excuses; break the Pact, and you suffer the consequences. Tell anyone about the Pact, and suffer. If you don't carry out your own sentence on the day assigned to you, you suffer. No one had ever spoken aloud the exact consequences of breaking the rules, but they could only assume what it was. Mercedes herself came to the conclusion that they'd have to have the leader there next to them as they did it. Perhaps the leader would even do the job themselves, becoming the true killer.

But then again, they were already a killer, deciding when each person was to die. The only thing the members had any control over was the method of which they used to kill themselves. Even the place where they were to die was pre-determined by the leader. Mercedes didn't know why she was chosen as the half-way person. She didn't know why she was number five, and not number seven or number three. She tried to make sense of a pattern, to get into the leader's mind, but try as she could, there were no answers for this. She began to drive towards the area that she was to do it in. She had to hit the tree in a certain way, from a certain angle, to ensure that she would die on impact. She could not live; a botched attempt on your life would also bring about consequences.

**Mercedes: Almost there…won't be long now.**

**(512) 425-9821: Artie, Tina, Sam, and Mike will meet you on the other side.**

Her heart and her car sped up as she saw the marked area where she'd stashed her journal earlier that day on her way home from school. It was dark and blessedly rainy; perfect conditions for this to happen. She gunned the accelerator and drove straight towards the tree…

_Speeding into the horizon_  
><em>Dreaming of the siren<em>

The leader heard the sirens way before they saw them. They crouched low in the bushes near where Mercedes' car was totaled by the tree. Skidmarks from the tires lined the streets, and they thanked their lucky stars that it was raining and this could be easily framed as an accident. There was no mess to clean up, nothing to erase or to cover. They saw the paramedics load Mercedes' body into the infamous black bag and put her in the ambulance. It was too late for her now. They had to wait for the coast to clear before running out in the rain, their clothes getting soaked through, to grab the girl's pink journal and stash it away in their bag. They were itching to read it and uncover the diva's darkest secret, but they had to wait until the group was assembled.

They knew exactly what the rest of the order was going to be now.

All the pieces were coming together nicely.

And now, all there was to do was wait their turn to die. 

_Wishing for her broken glass on the highway_  
><em>It could be so easy<em>

**To be continued…**


	11. Interlude 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: Again, thanks for all of the reviews and alerts that you've put on this story! I never quite expected it to be this popular, but I'm glad it is. Thank you, thank you, thank you all. **

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><p>"…car accident on Sand Cove Road…" the news reporter was saying, and Kurt jolted to life, heart hammering in his chest. He leaned closer to the television, hanging on her every word. "One victim, identified to be a McKinley High student, the fifth one to suddenly pass away this semester."<p>

"Mercedes," Kurt murmured. "NO!" He began shaking and gasping for air; it hadn't hit him that this was the day Mercedes was supposed to kill herself. He hadn't made the connection between the news report that was unfolding before him and that day's date, its sheer significance. It slammed into him with stunning realization, and he nearly collapsed right then and there in his living room. "NO!"

"Kurt, what is it?" His new stepmom, Carole—who happened to be Finn's mother—ran into the room. "What's happened? What's wrong?"

Kurt shook his head, unable to speak, stumbling over the words he never thought he'd be speaking so soon. "M…Mer…car wreck…dead," he managed to say through his tears.

"Oh, no," Carole murmured. She sat next to him on the sofa, wrapping her arms around him comfortingly. "Oh, Kurt…I'm so sorry…" She knew this had to be too much for him; she'd been on-duty in the emergency room the night Mike Chang had been brought in, and had been leaving when Tina Cohen-Chang arrived at the hospital, both of them dead on arrival. That, on top of Artie Abram's and Sam Evans's sudden and tragic deaths, had to be getting to Kurt. She knew Finn had a hard time dealing with his classmates' passing, but then again, Kurt was so radically different than her biological son. She didn't know what lurked behind that hardened exterior, what lay beneath the pale surface. Carole hadn't seen or heard Kurt cry over Tina, Artie, Mike, or Sam…but Mercedes? Her death seemed to be wrecking him the most. She could do nothing but hold her new stepson close as sobs consumed his thin frame and wait for the storm to pass.

_Three days later_

"I can't do this," Kurt mumbled at Mercedes's funeral. He was sick of funerals. He didn't know what to say at Sam's; he'd barely gotten to know the boy, but wished there was something he could've said to help the closeted gay. He also didn't quite know how to react to Mike's funeral; what was there to say? He could barely look Mr. Chang in the eye; how could a father be so unbearably cruel to his own son? He'd sniffled throughout Tina's services, but again had trouble facing her father, especially after he knew what he did. Artie's was the first, and one of the hardest, as they'd been childhood friends. In fact, the same accident that had claimed Kurt's mother's life had claimed Artie's legs.

Something they never really forgave each other for.

But it was too late for forgiveness now.

_The day after that_

"I just don't know anymore," Rachel said warily. "Should we…should we stop now? Five is enough…do the other five really have to go, too?"

"No," the leader snapped at her. "It's too late to stop what we've done now. Here," they unceremoniously tossed Mercedes's journal into the middle of their dwindling circle.

"I can't read it," Kurt's hands trembled. "Someone…someone else…Santana…"

The Latina sighed and picked it up from where it sat in front of Puck. "Okay, so basically Aretha-" Kurt glared at her. "Mercedes," Santana corrected herself. "Had some sort of sister or something who died after she was born." She closed the book.

"And?" Quinn raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"That's it," Santana shrugged. "Seems kind of lame compared to everyone else."

"Well, I guess that's that," Puck leaned back against the wall.

Something inside Kurt snapped, like an overstretched rubber band. "What do you mean, 'well, that's that'?" He stood up and stood over Puck, staring down at the older boy.

"Easy, Liberace," Puck held his hands up.

"You fucking dated Mercedes," Kurt hissed, lunging towards Puck. "You fucking DATED her! And you broke her heart!"

"I didn't break her heart," Puck retorted. "She broke up with _me_, remember?"

"But you CARED for her," Kurt yelled. "And you HURT her!"

"She hurt herself," Puck said simply, and Kurt couldn't argue, because he knew it was the truth. He sat back down weakly.

"Well," the leader said after a silence that seemed to last forever. "With that being said, Kurt-" They fell silent as someone walked into the room.

"Hey," the newcomer said. "I want in."

"In on what?" Rachel crinkled her nose in distaste at their visitor.

"I know about your Pact," the visitor said. "And I want in on it."

"Or?" Puck sought out the catch that was surely there.

"Or your secret gets out," the guest shrugged casually.

They all turned to look at the leader, who smiled a honeyed smile. "Of course," they said sweetly. "Have a seat, David."

**To be continued…**


	12. Dave: Missing

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Missing.**

**Note: Threw you for a loop there, didn't I? I never said this story was going to be predictable. Or, well, happy for that matter. At any rate, enjoy this plot twist as it unfolds and everyone becomes more and more intertwined.**

**Note: I don't ship Kurt/Dave in any way, but it works for this one.**

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><p><em><strong>Case File<strong>_

**Pact Member: Dave**

**Song: Missing by Evanescence**

**Method of Death: Arsenic**

**Time of Death: 4:12 P.M. on Wednesday, December 15, 2010**

**Last Known Words: "Kurt…"**

_Please, please forgive me_  
><em>But I won't be home again<em>  
><em>Maybe someday you'll look up<em>  
><em>And, barely conscious, you'll say to no one<em>  
><em>"Isn't something missing?"<em>

Dave Karofsky liked to think of himself as the big man on the William McKinley campus. He was on the football team, and could easily take out any guy that dared to cross his path. But Dave was hiding a secret that was bigger than he was, a secret that was bigger than anything he could've ever fathomed.

Dave Karofksy was gay.

He was in love with Kurt Hummel.

And he hated himself for it.

He didn't mean to harass Kurt, really. He hated every punch, every shove, every cruel thing that he'd ever said to the boy. But see, he had to do it. He couldn't let anyone know about his true feelings. He couldn't let the world see that he had feelings for the small, pale boy. Kurt was in Glee Club, and Dave knew that this was social suicide. He was a football player, and therefore, was expected to date a cheerleader, not someone from the most hated club at the school. But he couldn't help it. He had fallen, and fallen hard.

And there was nothing, nothing he could do about it.

_You won't cry for my absence, I know_  
><em>You forgot me long ago<em>  
><em>Am I that unimportant?<em>  
><em>Am I so insignificant?<em>  
><em>Isn't something missing?<em>  
><em>Isn't someone missing me?<em>

Late at night, Dave lay in bed, thinking of Kurt. He loved the color of Kurt's eyes, especially when he was angry, in which they flashed a light green. He loved the way Kurt did his hair, and even how he dressed, even if it was a little weird sometimes. He felt his pants getting tighter as he thought of undressing Kurt, of seeing that pale chest that he'd occasionally caught a glimpse of in the locker room. His face got warm and flushed as he thought about watching Kurt in the shower, which, he'd admit to no one, he'd done once. Dave tried to control the overwhelming urge to do something about the bulge in his boxers, but the more he tried to resist, the more he thought about Kurt, the harder it was. He reached a hand in his pants and finished the deed, imagining it was Kurt. After he was done, he felt disgusted with himself. He couldn't believe he had just pleasured himself to the thoughts of Kurt Hummel pleasuring him. He felt so dirty, so dirty, and yet…

And yet, Karofsky could not wait for the next moment that he would catch a glimpse of Kurt in the hallway. He wanted to kiss him, wanted to kiss those soft lips so badly, he just needed to, just needed to do it once and get it over with. If he could only just kiss Kurt once, he was sure he could get rid of the feelings. If his lips could touch the lips of the soprano boy for a fleeting moment, Dave could figure out what he really wanted, if he was truly gay, or just, as they say, "confused". Dave could almost taste those lips…

_Even though I'm the sacrifice_  
><em>You won't try for me, not now<em>  
><em>Though I'd die to know you love me<em>  
><em>I'm all alone<em>  
><em>Isn't someone missing me?<em>

So Dave had kissed Kurt. He'd cornered him in the locker room and kissed him, right when Kurt had been yelling at him that he couldn't "punch the gay" out of him. And it was the most delicious thing Dave had ever tasted. It was sweet and magical, and it had made his head spin around. Yes, it was wonderful, incredible, powerful.

And nothing changed. Dave was still, indeed, very much in love with Kurt Hummel.

But it was too late. Kurt was already falling for someone else.

Someone who didn't push him around or put him down.

Someone who would never be David Karofsky.

But yet, Dave still loved Kurt. Or at least, he thought he did. Kurt was everything Dave ever wanted to be. He was strong. He was proud of who he was. He was talented. He was popular, but in a good way; he'd had to earn his popularity. He had friends who accepted him for who he was, and a father who loved him no matter what.

And most of all, Kurt was beautiful, something Dave Karofsky had never felt for a moment in his life.

And he so very envied Kurt for his beauty.

_Please, please forgive me_  
><em>But I won't be home again<em>  
><em>I know what you do to yourself<em>  
><em>I breathe deep and cry out<em>  
><em>"Isn't something missing?<em>  
><em>Isn't someone missing me?"<em>

People wouldn't think he was smart, but he was. He'd pieced together the deaths of the other five McKinley students who'd died within the past few months, and there was no way these were accidental or the work of a serial killer. Whoever heard of a serial killer that targeted members of a high school glee club? The only death that puzzled him was that of Mercedes Jones. She'd died in a car accident, and he still wondered, to that day, if she was the cause of it, or if it was a cruel twist of fate. Her name had been inscribed on the piece of paper he'd had to sign, and he supposed now that it could've been a possibility, that the car crash she'd died in had been her suicide. He'd heard through the grapevine that Artie Abrams had had alcohol and hard medications in his system at the time he'd died—not exactly the work of a murderer. And Tina Cohen-Chang…there was no way she was killed. He'd been to the spot where she'd been found, and he could tell right away that if you were to stand on top of that abandoned warehouse, you could easily jump to your death. As for that new kid, Sam Evans, well he'd obviously hung himself and then the leader had cut him down and framed it as a strangling. A clever idea, but nothing that Dave—who had studied forensics during many marathons of CSI and the like—couldn't figure out. He also knew that there was _no_ way Mike Chang could've been shot in the _mouth_ like that; the ballistics of the bullet and the gunshot wound didn't match up to someone who walked up to him and shot him in the head.

Had he decided to life, Dave could've been a forensic scientist.

But he'd figured out the secret of the Pact—how had no one else figured this out?—and wanted in on it. It was just a matter of figuring out where and when they were meeting—actually, he'd done that by eavesdropping on Kurt and Puck in the bathroom—and crashing the gathering. He had blackmail on them, and if they hadn't let him in, he was prepared to let everyone know that there was a ten-person suicide pact in the school.

And as much as he didn't want Kurt to die, he wanted Kurt's suffering to end.

_Even though I'm the sacrifice_  
><em>You won't try for me, not now<em>  
><em>Though I'd die to know you love me<em>  
><em>I'm all alone<em>  
><em>Isn't someone missing me?<em>

Dave knew how he wanted to die. He'd read a book—well, a play, actually—back in Freshman year, one that he never really wanted to read, but every freshman in the history of the world seemed to have to read it. It was _Romeo and Juliet_, and while everyone else on the football team had hated it, Dave had enjoyed it. He thought it was violent and cool, like how all the guys would just randomly take out their swords and kill each other, and they didn't even know why they were fighting in the first place. He also—again, never admitting it—thought it was utterly romantic. He liked how Juliet couldn't live without Romeo, and how they'd killed themselves, one after the other, because they couldn't deal otherwise. True, they were 'stupid teenagers' and did things impulsively, and a four-day romance was something out of a Disney film, but there was something beautiful about it. He'd talked to the leader of their Pact and asked them if they knew how Kurt intended on killing himself. They did. And Dave knew how he had to kill himself in order to make it the ultimate star-crossed lovers story.

Even if Kurt would never love him back.

Even if this story had only one side to it.

Even if Kurt never cried at his funeral.

He took the arsenic-laced cookies out of the oven. He'd made just enough for himself, so that his parents wouldn't find them and eat them, too. He took a deep breath and ate one, then two, then a third, before things started to waver, and suddenly, it all went black…

_And if I bleed, I'll bleed_  
><em>Knowing you don't care<em>  
><em>And if I sleep just to dream of you<em>  
><em>I'll wake without you there<em>  
><em>Isn't something missing?<em>  
><em>Isn't something...<em>

The leader snuck into Dave's house later that afternoon, slipping in through Dave's open bedroom window. They thanked their lucky stars that they were skilled at climbing trees, and that there was a tree right outside Dave's window for them to shimmy up. They found him downstairs in the kitchen, dead as a doornail according to the obligatory pulse-check. But how to cover this up? They hadn't thought this one out very clearly; it had been so sudden, that it even jarred their tough exterior. Glancing at the song that was playing on Dave's iPod, they got a brilliant idea; Dave could just go missing. They lugged his body—no easy task, him being close to 200 pounds—out the front door and to their car, sliding him into the backseat and driving off, hoping that they could pass this off as him sleeping. The leader drove to the city limits, hiding his body in an abandoned shed, and sped off into the twilit horizon.

Never in a million years had they thought they'd be doing this, hiding their dead classmate's bodies in abandoned sheds.

But things never turn out the way we plan, do they?

_Even though I'm the sacrifice_  
><em>You won't try for me, not now<em>  
><em>Though I'd die to know you love me<em>  
><em>I'm all alone<em>  
><em>Isn't something missing?<em>  
><em>Isn't someone missing me?<em>

**To be continued...**_  
><em>


	13. Interlude 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: Oh my GOD! Over 100 reviews? Already? Thank you all so much! I honestly did not expect this story to take off the way it did, and the fact that it's just barely half-way done and I've broken 100 reviews? That's insane. So, thanks a lot! Keep the love coming!**

* * *

><p><em>Tensions run high...minds start to change...everyone becomes entangled...only five are left...<em>

"…David Karofsky…reported missing last night…no sign of a struggle." Will Schuester sighed heavily and put his morning newspaper down. He'd never personally taught Dave, but he knew the boy had been harassing Kurt Hummel for a few months, and felt guilty that he hadn't stepped in enough. While he was thankful that Dave had not turned up dead like five of his former students, he was now worried. Had Dave run away because of something that had happened at home?

There had to be some reason why he had been harassing Kurt so much. It was true, he'd gone after some of his other Glee students, but it seemed as if Kurt was his main target. Will enjoyed Kurt. Kurt was a good student, and an incredible performer. He didn't know why, exactly, one person out of the entire school would focus all their pent-up anger and rage at one other person. He shuffled off to work, where he found the remaining seven Glee members sitting silently around the choir room.

"Mr. Schue?" Rachel raised her hand.

"Yes, Rachel?"

"Can we…we should…can we not…compete anymore?"

Mr. Schue did a double-take. "What?"

"We don't have enough members anymore, and…well, none of us really feels like competing anymore. We just want to sing, for ourselves and for…for the others."

Who _was_ this girl, and what had she done to Rachel Berry? "Rachel, are you feeling okay?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

"I think it would be best if we…temporarily quit the competition circuit," Quinn spoke up. "Look, maybe next year we'll compete again, but for now, let's give it a rest while we grieve for those who've tragically lost their lives in these past few months."

The others nodded in silent agreement. Santana clung to Brittany for support, dreading the moment when she'd leave the blonde forever. Kurt slumped down in his chair, staring straight ahead at the wall. Finn cast the occasional glance over at Quinn, but tried to focus on Rachel, who wasn't in the mood to speak to him. And Puck folded his arms across his chest and had eyes for only one person in the room, whose heart he had broken.

_Three days later_

"This should interest you, Kurt," the leader slid Karofsky's journal towards the countertenor. "He wrote about you a lot."

"Oh no," Kurt sullenly picked it up, his heart pounding. "I'm sure it amounts to 'that faggot Hummel did something really gay today'."

"Not exactly," the leader winced, knowing exactly what Kurt was about to read.

"Shit," Kurt swore as he scanned the marked pages. "Shit, shit, _shit_."

"What? What is it?" Rachel gripped at her chest, watching Kurt's horrified expression.

"He was in love with me," Kurt's eyes filled with hot tears. "Or…or he thought he was…he…I knew he was gay, because…well, I just knew," he wiped his tears away, not wanting to reveal what had happened in the locker room. "But…why me?"

"Kurt, I…I don't know what to say," Rachel reached out to comfort him, but Kurt pulled away from her, throwing the journal against the wall.

"I can't do this," Kurt stormed out of the meeting of the Pact.

"Kurt, wait," Puck chased after him, pinning him against the wall in the hallway. "What the hell is going on with you lately?"

"Let me go, Noah," Kurt struggled to free himself from where Puck had his wrists restrained. "Noah, let me _go_!"

"You can't deny what happened between us," Puck hissed. Every time Kurt called him by his real name—the only person at this school who he'd _let_ call him that—was like a dagger to his heart. "Okay? Do you think I want to fucking let you kill yourself?"

"Like you ever cared," Kurt spat bitterly. "Like you ever gave a fuck about me."

"Well, excuse me, princess," Puck sneered. "But I happened to give a _lot_ of fucks."

"Funny way of showing it." Kurt had half a mind to knee Puck in the groin and tear down the hall. "I can't do this," he whimpered. "I can't _do_ this anymore."

"Well then drop out," Puck pleaded. "Quit the Pact. Don't do it, Kurt."

"_I_ can't do it…but _you_ can," Kurt stared Puck directly in the eye.

"What?" Puck dropped Kurt's wrists. "What the _fuck_?"

"You can kill me," Kurt's blue-grey eyes lit up. "You can do it for me, Noah."

"Fuck," Puck gaped at the smaller boy, slack-jawed. "Kurt, I can't…I may be a badass, but I'm not a murderer. And you…well, besides my little sister, my Nana, and Beth, you're the last person on Earth I could kill."

"We'll do it together," Kurt became more alive. "You and me, we'll do it together. We'll die together, Noah!"

"No," Puck pushed away. "I can't watch the life leave your eyes."

"It already has," Kurt pushed past the older teen and stomped down the hall.

"Shit," Puck swore. "Fuck!" He punched the wall, causing Rachel to run out into the fray.

"Noah, what's going on?" Her big brown eyes were full of worry. "Where's Kurt?"

"I can't watch him die," Puck shook his head furiously. "I can't, okay?"

"We should all stop," Rachel said concernedly. "We should…rebel! Live!"

"I'm not living without you, or Kurt, or Quinn," Puck closed his eyes.

"Me, either," Rachel stood by his side. "Noah…you loved them, didn't you?"

"Yes," he said softly. "I did…I do."

"And you can't…"

"…kill them? I think I already have," he said sadly as he left her standing there alone to bask in her own sorrow, hoping his own wouldn't eclipse hers.

**To be continued…**


	14. Kurt: Cloud Nine

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Cloud Nine.**

**Note: Whoa, so many reviews! Thanks so much! There's about ten chapters after this one, so you're in for the long haul here, readers. Also, for us Americans, the hiatus ends in 72 hours! At long, long last!**

**Warning: Gender issues and semi-graphic suicide lie ahead. **

* * *

><p><em><strong>Case File<strong>_

**Pact Member: Kurt**

**Song: Cloud Nine by Evanescence**

**Method of Death: Stabbing**

**Time of Death: 5:21 P.M. on Thursday, January 23, 2011**

**Last Known Words: "Tell Noah that I forgive him."**

_If you want to live, let live  
>If you want to go, let go<br>I'm not afraid to dream, to sleep, sleep forever_

There were only two things that Kurt Hummel knew for sure:

1. He was irrevocably in love with Noah Puckerman and always would be.

And

2. He was born into the wrong body.

He decided to tackle these issues one at a time. He wanted to start with Noah, because Noah was all that he knew. Or rather, all _who_ he knew. He hadn't meant to fall for the bad-boy charms, but Kurt had always, deep down, been attracted to bad boys. And Noah 'Puck' Puckerman was the very definition of a bad boy, right down to the leather jacket he sometimes wore. He'd even been a teenage father, knocking up his best friend's girl.

It hadn't always been that way, though. Of course it hadn't always been that way. How could it have been? No, no, no. Noah Puckerman had been Kurt's first best friend in the world. His mother—now eight years dead—and Noah's mother had been good friends in college, and although Noah was a year older than Kurt, they had been best friends for as long as they could remember. In fact, Noah had stepped in for the role of big brother to Kurt, protecting him from bullies who picked on him for being too effimate as a child. It wasn't until Noah's father left them after his younger sister was born that Noah began to act out as a result of the loss and betrayal.

_I don't need to touch the sky_  
><em>I just want to feel that high<em>  
><em>And you refuse to lift me<em>

But when was it that Kurt had fallen in love with Noah? It most likely was when Kurt figured out that he was attracted to boys. Or was it perhaps before that? After all, Kurt had been good friends with Artie Abrams, too…then again, Kurt had never loved Artie the way he'd always seemed to love Noah. Of course, Kurt had to hide his love for Noah, and he had to hide it well. A slight touch of the hand was enough to send his heart reeling, but he stuffed those feelings deep down inside, where no one could ever find them. He never, ever had felt that way around girls. It was always, always around Noah, no one else. Not another soul could make him feel that way, like his soul was on fire, like he just wanted to grab Noah and kiss him and never stop loving him.

And he never would stop loving him, really. How could he? Even in death, he expected he'd still be loving Noah.

But Noah wouldn't be loving him, and that depressed the fuck out of Kurt. 

_Guess it wasn't real after all_  
><em>Guess it wasn't real all along<em>

"I…I think I'm in love with you," Kurt squeaked.

"In love? With me?" Noah looked confused, and Kurt's heart sank.

"Please don't hate me," Kurt's lip quivered.

"I never could," Noah shook his head. He cupped Kurt's chin in his large, rough hand and kissed him softly on the lips. It was better than Kurt had ever dreamed. His soul, his body, his heart, his very _skin_ was on fire, burning swift and true. It was as if he were drifting along some secret place, except this time, Noah was right there with him. Noah later confessed that he was bisexual, or at the very least pansexual, and Kurt felt a leap of hope. He could have his fairy-tale ending with Noah! He could live happily-ever-after!

But Noah flipped and flopped between Kurt and his many lovers on the side. Kurt knew of Noah's sexual prowess, and knew that he had a preference for cheerleaders and cougars (the latter of which he did _not_wholly approve of).

It wasn't until he got Quinn pregnant that Kurt felt utterly betrayed by Noah for the first time in his life.

Before, he could just turn a blind eye and a deaf ear. If he didn't see or hear proof that Noah was having sex with people other than himself, he could pretend that it wasn't real.

But when the proof was staring him in the face in the form of Quinn Fabray's pregnant stomach, he couldn't ignore the truth: Noah had cheated on him.

And Noah Puckerman would never truly be his. 

_If I fall and all is lost_  
><em>It's where I belong<em>

"Really, Noah?" Kurt spat. "You just had to get someone pregnant, didn't you? And not just Santana or whoever, but your other best friend's girlfriend. Way to go."

"I'm sorry," Noah apologized.

"No," Kurt said stonily. "You're not. You cheated on me."

"We were never dating," Noah said exasperatedly.

"You still…Noah," Kurt said in a hushed tone. "I gave my virginity to you."

"And it was the best night of my life," Noah reached out to caress Kurt's cheek, but Kurt swatted his hand away, annoyed. "Kurt, you know I care about you, a lot."

"I love you," Kurt trembled with sudden rage. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

"It means everything…"

"Then why," Kurt blinked back tears fast. "Did you break my heart?"

"Kurt, I…"

"You got Quinn pregnant, and then you fooled around with Rachel. What's that telling Quinn, huh? Because I sure know what it's telling me."

"I didn't…mean to break your heart," Noah sighed heavily. "Kurt, I just…if the other guys knew that you and I were…"

"Since when were you concerned about that?" Kurt said hotly, anger coming back.

"I see what they do to me and Finn and Matt and Mike 'cause we're in Glee club," Noah explained. "And I know what they do to you. Kurt, I know everything about you, and you know everything about me. You were the first person I told about Quinn. Doesn't _that_ mean anything to _you_?"

"I can't do this anymore," Kurt shook his head. "I'm sorry, Noah. But we're done."

"Kurt," Noah said as Kurt walked away from him. "Kurt!" But he was already gone. 

_If you want to live, let live_  
><em>If you want to go, let go<em>  
><em>I'm never gonna be your sweet, sweet surrender<em>

Okay, so Kurt had lied to Noah, about just one thing.

Kurt was straight. Well, in a sense, he was totally straight.

Kurt Elizabeth Hummel was a girl. Not biologically, of course, and Noah could confirm that one-hundred percent. Kurt had a penis, and he had all the 'appropriate' male parts. But inside, he was a girl. He always knew he was a girl. He didn't care much for the term 'transsexual', but preferred 'born into the wrong body'. Oh, how desperately he wanted breasts and a vagina! He imagined himself caressing his female body so often, rubbing his breast and lowering his fingers down to his vagina, fingering it gently. But when his fingers drifted downwards towards his crotch, he instead was vastly disappointed to find a penis lying there instead.

Some may say that he was just gay, that he liked boys and fashion and Judy Garland and the like, as many stereotypically gay men did.

But this was so much deeper than that. Kurt knew in his heart and soul that he was supposed to be a girl. He'd picked out his girl's name so many times, he could say it in his sleep and write it backwards. Chloe Elizabeth Hummel. Chloe, because he thought it was a pretty name, and Elizabeth after his late mother. It was the perfect name.

All that was missing were the body parts to go along with it. 

_Guess it wasn't real after all_  
><em>Guess it wasn't real all along<em>

He'd never told anybody that he was born into the wrong body. Not Rachel, not Artie, not even his parents or Noah. No one had even been close to figuring it out. How could they be? To everyone else in the world, Kurt appeared to be a big flaming homosexual man. No one even dared to guess what was beneath the surface: a lost little girl.

A girl craving for attention, but not knowing how to get it.

A girl desperately wanting love, but losing it…to another girl.

A girl wanting her daddy's love, but never getting it.

A girl who wished for her mama to be there beside her, but not having her.

A girl who couldn't be who she was because the world was a cruel place and didn't accept her 'type' very kindly.

Also, she had a penis. Girls didn't have those. Girls (typically, unless they were menstruating) didn't want those. Girls had vaginas, and girls liked those.

But Kurt—Chloe, as he so desperately wished to be called—had a penis and all the rest of the equipment, and he hated them. Every time he peed, every time he got an erection, every time he took off his underwear to get in the shower…

Sure, he could pee sitting down. But he couldn't help when he was sexually aroused, and he couldn't help feeling it there between his legs, when he didn't want to. 

_If I fall and all is lost_  
><em>No light to lead the way<em>  
><em>Remember that all alone is where I belong<em>

Well, Kurt thought. This is it. This is the day I am to die. He wished he could die with Noah by his side, but knew it would never happen. Noah would never die with him, or for him, or in spite of him. Noah probably wouldn't even cry at his funeral. At least I don't have to go to any more of those, Kurt thought to himself. No more funerals. No more having to watch my friends die. No more crying. No more hating myself.

I can be free.

I can be myself at long last.

Maybe I'll be reborn as a girl…and finally be the true me.

He knew how he wanted to die. _Romeo and Juliet_ was his favorite book. He loved the double suicide. He loved the idea of dying next to the person you loved. He loved the idea of being so in love that you couldn't bear the mere thought of being without the other person. While he didn't have access to poison, he decided to stab himself.

Why not stab and mutilate the body you hated so much?

He grabbed one of Carole's sharp cooking knives from the kitchen. There was a way to do this, he knew, that would be guaranteed to kill you with only having to stab once or twice. Artie had written all the schematics in his journal before he died.

My journal, Kurt suddenly remembered. He set the knife down and ran upstairs, grabbing his iPod and his journal. He turned on the song he knew he wanted to slip away to and left it playing next to his earmarked journal. He quickly shot off a text.

**Kurt: About to do it, to end it all finally.**

**(512) 425-9821: Blessed be, Kurt. Do not be afraid. Artie, Tina, Sam, Mike, Mercedes, and Dave will greet you on the other side.**

**Kurt: I'm not afraid. I just wish Noah was there to greet me with open arms.**

He threw his phone against a wall, shattering it. He picked up the knife again. It gleamed and glistened in the light. He had half a mind to pull a Sweeney Todd and slash his throat, but he managed not to. He took a deep breath and jabbed the knife into his stomach, hard, plunging it to the hilt. At once, overwhelming pain took him, and he staggered to his knees. Kurt pulled it out, blood flowing everywhere. He moved the knife a little to the left and stabbed again, more confidently this time. Again, the pain, though it was less than before. Blood was steadily pouring from his body, and he knew he would bleed out sooner than later. He only had to stab himself one more time before he was satisfied that it would kill him. All he had to do was wait for the world to go black. 

_In a dream_  
><em>Will you give your love to me?<em>  
><em>Beg my broken heart to beat?<em>  
><em>Save my life, change my mind?<em>

The leader skillfully unlocked the Hummel-Hudson's back door with the key they'd had for months. They'd been here so many times; it was all clockwork for them. They found Kurt with the knife still lodged in his stomach in the dining room, the curtains blessfully drawn closed so that no one could see inside. They dashed over to Kurt's still body, which was still bleeding out, and felt for a pulse.

There was one. It was faint, but it was there.

"Kurt? Kurt, it's me," they whispered. "Are you still with us?"

"Barely," came the breathless answer. "I…I need you to do something for me."

"Anything," they held his hand, shivering as Kurt's blood pooled beneath their feet.

"Tell Noah that I forgive him," Kurt murmured.

"I will," they said quietly. "I promise." They didn't know what Kurt was talking about. All they could do was watch Kurt's eyes glaze over, the life slowly leaving them, like there was a dimmer switch behind them, turning them down by degrees. The blue-grey eyes that once had so many sparks behind them went blank and lifeless. The leader stifled a sob, trying to stay calm and emotionless.

It was one thing to walk into a room and find your friend already dead.

It was another entirely to watch them die before your eyes.

They took the knife with their gloved hand and wiped off Kurt's fingerprints before kissing his forehead tenderly, leaving him for Finn to find not ten minutes later. _  
><em>

Finn, who found his stepbrother dead on the dining room floor and promptly screamed his fucking head off.

_If I fall and all is lost_  
><em>No light to lead the way<em>  
><em>Remember that all alone is where I belong<em>


	15. Interlude 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: I know you guys all hate me for the whole Kurt chapter, but you're gonna really hate me by the end of this story. Trust me, dear readers, you're going to just loathe and despise me for the last half of this story. Well, here goes.**

"He's gone," the leader whispered to Puck, calling him up after they got home.

"I know," Puck choked back a sob. "Finn called me in hysterics."

The leader felt as if they'd been punched in the gut. "Finn found him?"

"Finn found him," Puck reiterated. "Just came in and fucking found him dead on the fucking dining room floor. Drenched in his own blood."

"I'm so sorry," the leader said. "Puck, I'm so sorry…"

"I hate you," Puck hissed. "You did this to him!"

"Me? I wasn't the one who killed him. He drove himself to this! He signed his own name on that sheet of paper, on his own free will!"

"I shouldn't have let him," Puck was breathing heavily. "I should've saved him. I should've stopped him from killing himself. Now the one person I love besides my daughter, my Nana, and my sister is DEAD."

"You don't love me?" The leader whispered.

"No," Puck muttered. "You're sick. You really are." He slammed the phone down on the receiver and collapsed in a fit of tears.

_The next day_

"What?" Rachel gasped.

"He was there…on the floor…he was…bleeding all over. There was a knife…one of Carole's sharp cooking knives…in his stomach. I…I tried to save him but he was…"

"I'm so sorry," Rachel's eyes pooled over with tears. "Finn, I'm so sorry."

"I should've been there for him," Finn was still in a daze over the nightmare he'd walked in to the previous evening. "I should've protected my stepbrother, and I didn't."

"Was there anything you could've done?" Rachel cast her eyes downwards.

"I think so," Finn nodded. "The police think he was killed. The back door…I found it unlocked later. Someone came in, and they killed my stepbrother. They think it might be the same person who killed Artie and Tina and Sam and Mike."

"Then what could you have done? They could've killed you, too," Rachel pointed out.

"No. I wouldn't have let them." Finn clenched his fists in grief and anger.

"You guys aren't gonna believe this," Santana ran into the choir room, waving a newspaper in her hand. "They found Karofsky's body."

"What?" Rachel's knees felt quivery. "They…alive or dead?"

"Dead," Santana said. "About a month, from what the cops think. They found him in some old shed out near the Lima city limits."

"Oh my God," Finn grabbed the paper from her hand. "I thought…"

"You thought he killed Kurt, didn't you?" Rachel said softly.

"It was a possibility," Finn shrugged. "But if he's been dead for a month…"

"…there's no way he could've," Santana looked worried.

The three looked at each other in stunned silence. It was clear that Karofsky's death had been the work of this alleged mass murderer that had targeted the rest of their fallen friends. The only death they were _sure_ was an accident was Mercedes's.

Well, at least, Finn, Brittany, and the adults were sure of that.

Rachel, Santana, Quinn, and Puck? They were just very good at acting.

_Three days after that_

"No," Puck shook with rage at Kurt's funeral. "NO!" He lunged towards Kurt's casket, throwing himself at it. "Kurt, please, no…" It hadn't quite hit him until then that Kurt was, in fact, dead. It was all rather like a bad dream. Hell, that entire _year_ had been like a bad dream, a nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. "Kurt, wake up…" It took both Santana and Brittany to pry him away, and they barely managed.

"He's in a better place," Brittany said softly. "With all the other dolphins."

"He can't be hurt," Santana added, tugging the sleeves of her shirt down.

"I'm sorry, buddy," Burt Hummel had wandered over to where Noah was trembling, sitting on a chair in the back of the room. "I know you two were close."

"I should've protected him," Puck mumbled. "I should've…I loved him," he looked up at Burt with tearstained cheeks. "I really did."

Burt flinched. "I believe you," he said. "Kurt spoke of you often."

"He's with his mother," Puck sniffled miserably. "That's what matters, right?"

Burt winced again. "Yes…he is…" he looked down. "He had his mother's eyes."

"I can't imagine the pain you must be going through, Mr. Hummel," Santana spoke up.

"Yeah, I'm really sorry about Kurt," Brittany added. "He was really great."

"Thanks, ladies," he replied numbly. He went back to his wife and stepson to continue greeting people as they came to pay their last respects.

The leader breezed past Puck. "Tonight," they whispered, the word lingering in the air.

_That night_

"I hate you," Puck growled at their leader.

"Whatever," they said. "Anyway, so here's Kurt's journal. Who wants to read it?"

"I will," Santana volunteered, knowing Puck couldn't—or wouldn't. "Oh wow," her big brown eyes widened. "This is really…wow." She read the marked pages in stunned silence.

"I never thought I'd live to see the day when Santana Lopez was speechless," Rachel quibbled. "This must be good."

"Does the sentence 'I am a girl' give you any hints about what I'm reading right now?" Santana snarked. "Because it sure as hell-"

"Wait," Puck grabbed the journal out of her hands. "What?" His eyes scanned the page, devouring every word that Kurt had left behind. "No…no…I…he never told me…"

"Poor Chloe," Santana murmured.

"That's such a pretty name," Quinn smiled. "Chloe. Yeah, that fit for Kurt."

"I…we had sex," Puck managed to get out. "We had _sex_, and he never told me that he was a girl…"

"You had sex with Kurt?" Santana's head snapped suddenly towards Puck.

"Chloe," Rachel gently corrected her.

"Yes," Puck said dazedly. "We had sex. Does that bother you?"

"I can't believe this," Santana looked as if she was about to slap him across the face.

"_You_ can't believe this? What about _me_?" Puck raised his voice.

"Guys, stop," Rachel pleaded with tear-filled eyes.

"I want to die next," Puck begged. "Please, let me die next."

The leader looked weary. "Santana was next…"

"No. I'm _asking_ you to let me follow Ku—Chloe now. _Please_."

"No," the leader said firmly. "Santana is going to die next."

"Why do you keep me hanging on,-"

"Because," they snarled. "You know why I do."

"Fuck you," Puck flipped them off. "Fine. Santana can fucking kill herself next. But then I'm going."

"Deal," the leader narrowed their eyes. "Santana…?"

"I'm on it," she mock-saluted.

"Good," the leader smiled sweetly. "We'll see you on the other side."

**To be continued…**


	16. Santana: Tourniquet

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Tourniquet.**

**Note: Whoa, crazy response to that last chapter! Anyway, so we're getting down to the wire here (by which I mean "there are four deaths left but nine chapters") and emotions are really running high, as you saw by the last chapter. Well, keep on keeping on and, oh yeah, review! Please and thank you!**

**Note: I know, another Evanescence song, but it's literally ABOUT suicide, so I kind of feel obligated to use it here. **

**Warning: Graphic (read: bloody) suicide.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Case File<strong>_

**Pact Member: Santana**

**Song: Tourniquet by Evanescence**

**Method of Death: Slit Wrists**

**Time of Death: 7:57 P.M. on Monday, February 14, 2011**

**Last Known Words: "Para mi Abuelita, lo ciento que no será la nieta que tú querido que sea" (For my Grandma, I'm sorry that I was not the granddaughter that you wanted me to be)**

_I tried to kill the pain  
>But only brought more (So much more)<br>I lay dying  
>And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal<em>

Santana Maria Lopez had the world eating out of the palm of her tanned hand. She was a cheerleader—former captain, but since demoted. She was tall and thin and beautiful. She could have her pick of any boy in the school, and they'd fall at her feet, worshipping the ground she walked on.

But she didn't want any of them.

She only wanted Brittany S. Pierce.

Santana wouldn't tell anyone, but she was a lesbian. She had formerly identified as bisexual, fooling around with boys and girls (well, mostly Brittany). But now, she was positive that she only truly had feelings for Brittany. Before, it had all been about sex, and that was all her relationships with boys had been: sex. With Brittany, however, it was more emotional, deeper, and passionate. She and Brittany had been best friends since middle school, and were still as close as ever.

Except Santana was in love with Brittany, and Brittany just loved Santana. 

_I'm dying, praying, bleeding, and screaming_  
><em>Am I too lost to be saved<em>  
><em>Am I too lost?<em>

So she'd resorted to cutting. She didn't do it often—only when she'd had a bad day. It wasn't easy, being Santana Lopez. Her family was lower-middle class, living in Lima Heights Adjacent, where she stood a chance of being jumped whenever she walked out of her door. She couldn't come out to her family, because they were staunch Catholics, especially her grandmother, her beloved Abuela. She couldn't even come out to her friends—not that she had that many to begin with. Brittany was the only one who remotely knew, but it gave Santana small comfort. So she cut. Not enough to do much damage, but enough to release her pain for a little while.

She was beautiful, to almost anyone who saw her.

Yet she'd still gotten a breast augmentation over the summer. And for what? Was it because she was insecure? Did she think her breasts could be bigger than they already were? Was it just on a whim, like many things that Santana did?

Or was it because she just wanted to impress a certain Brittany S. Pierce?

_My God, my tourniquet_  
><em>Return to me salvation<em>  
><em>My God, my tourniquet<em>  
><em>Return to me salvation<em>

"Abuela, I have to talk to you," Santana said.

"What is it, my Santana?" Her grandmother smiled at her.

"Can you keep a secret?" Santana twiddled her thumbs nervously.

"Of course, my dear. What is troubling you?"

"Abuela, you know I love you dearly…"

"You're not pregnant, are you?" She gasped in horror.

"No, nothing like that," Santana quickly reassured her. "You know my friend, Brittany? Well, I'm in love with her. Like, the way you're in love with men."

"What?"

"Abuela, I _love Brittany_," Santana tried to clarify.

"You're…homosexual?" Her grandmother blinked at her.

"Yes," Santana murmured. Her grandmother snatched her hand away from where Santana had been holding it.

"That's a sin," she said. "An abomination unto the Lord."

"Abuela, please…"

"Get out of my house," her grandmother said in a low voice. "And never come back here again. I will not allow these…perversions…under my room."

"It's not a perversion, Abuela. I love Brittany, and she-"

"Leave now. And don't show your face around here again."

Santana left in tears. No one loves me, she thought. 

_Do you remember me_  
><em>Lost for so long?<em>  
><em>Will you be on the other side<em>  
><em>Or will you forget me?<em>

"Britt, can we…talk?"

"Sure," the blonde smiled. "What is it, 'Tana?"

"Have you ever thought about…dying?"

"What? No, not really," she looked confused. "Have you?"

"All the time," Santana murmured. "Remember when we watched Romeo + Juliet?"

"I think I was asleep," Brittany admitted. "Leo DiCaprio didn't take his shirt off enough."

"Do you remember how they both died in the end because they were so in love with each other that they couldn't live without each other?" Santana's dark eyes implored Brittany to recall when they'd watched the updated movie in their English class.

"I think so, yeah," Brittany nodded. "It was really sad."

"We could do it," Santana said in a low voice. "Me and you, we could…"

"Santana, no," Brittany's blue eyes widened. "Kill ourselves? No way!"

"But I…" Santana sighed. "I can't imagine living without you."

"Santana," Brittany's eyes darted around the room. "I can't be with you. I love you, but I'm not _in_ love with you. I want to live to be really, really old."

"So you won't do it with me?"

"No, Brittany backed away. Santana, you're scaring me…"

"Fine," Santana spat. "See if I care!"

_I'm dying, praying, bleeding, and screaming_  
><em>Am I too lost to be saved?<em>  
><em>Am I too lost?<em>

No matter how much she tried, Santana was never able to convince Brittany to die alongside her. She'd imagined them holding hands, even in death, and nothing being able to come between them. But Brittany was relentless; she insisted on dying in her sleep at a nice old age. Santana reasoned that poison or pills or alcohol would be almost the same thing as dying in her sleep. Brittany refused to give in. The more Santana talked about suicide, the more Brittany pulled away from her. She was losing Brittany, and losing her fast.

So when she was approached about a potential suicide pact, it was no small wonder that she immediately joined the leader's side and decided to do it—with or without Brittany.

"Come on, Britts," she'd said later that night. "Just do it with me, please."

"No," Brittany shook her head. "Santana, please don't…don't kill yourself.

"But I want to die," Santana begged her. "Please, be with me forever."

"But I will be," Brittany whispered. "In your heart."

"It's not enough to simply be with me," Santana murmured. "If I go down, you go down. It's like _Titanic_. I jump, you jump, right?"

"Santana, if you die, I'll be…I'll be very sad," Brittany fumbled to find the words.

"Well then, I guess you'll be very sad," Santana huffed and walked away.

_My God, my tourniquet_  
><em>Return to me salvation<em>  
><em>My God, my tourniquet<em>  
><em>Return to me salvation<em>

She'd never be the most popular girl in school.

Santana knew this. She knew this for a fact. Quinn Fabray would always be the most popular girl, and Santana would always be her number two, her second-in-command, her lady-in-waiting, if you will. Quinn was the all-American girl: blonde hair, blue eyes, cheerleader with the quarterback boyfriend…

And Santana, she was just some girl from Lima Heights Adjacent, a girl of the streets, the one whom everyone thought would get pregnant and drop out of school at fifteen.

So when Quinn got pregnant, Santana's hopes shot up: now _she_ could be the most popular girl in school! Quinn Fabray had finally fallen from grace. And it only got juicier: her boyfriend was _not_ the babydaddy. It was, in fact, Noah 'Puck' Puckerman, her boyfriend's best friend. Oh, how scandalous a story! Quinn Fabray's reputation would be so far ruined. She was a pregnant teenager, with an unsupportive babydaddy, who got kicked out of her house, _and_ was in Glee club. There was no way she could rise to popularity again!

But of course, she did, and Santana was back to being number two.

The overlooked girl.

The slut, as she'd been called oh so often.

The loser.

_Oooooh_  
><em>Oooooh<em>  
><em>Oooooh…<em>  
><em>I want to die!<em>

Santana knew how she wanted to do this. It was just like before, only a little deeper. This time, it would kill her. This time, it would work. This time, she'd bleed to death. If one or two cuts were enough to fill her with that sense of release and relief, she could barely imagine what cuts this deep would do for her. A cosmic feeling of release, she surmised. Feelings of intense relief, like all the troubles in the world were flowing out of her wrists. Like the weight of the world would pour out of her veins and out of her body, gone forever, never to return. She clasped the razorblade in her hand, as she had so many times before. It would be so easy to turn away now.

But Brittany would never be hers.

Her grandmother would never accept her.

And she'd never be the most popular girl in school.

**Santana: Goodbye, cruel world.**

**(512) 425-9821: Goodbye, my friend. Artie, Tina, Sam, Mike, Mercedes, Dave, and Kurt will meet you on the other side. **

"God bless," Santana kissed the rosary that was draped over the edge of the mirror in the bathroom. She took a deep breath and made one deep, long cut down the inside length of her arm. All at once, an overwhelming feeling of relief and pain flooded through her body. She looked down at the blood spilling from her wrist and breathed in rapture. Hands trembling, she made a similar deep cut down her opposite wrist, successfully slashing it. The blood was dripping onto the floor now, and shakily, she climbed into the bathtub, pulling the curtain around her so that she could die in relative peace and darkness. The world got fuzzy as blood continued to flow, staining the white porcelain of the tub pink.

And all…began…to...

…drift…away…

_My God, my tourniquet_  
><em>Return to me salvation<em>  
><em>My God, my tourniquet<em>  
><em>Return to me salvation<em>

The leader had had a key to Santana's house for quite some time now. They ran upstairs to the bathroom, where they knew Santana had intended on killing herself. They shivered; despite how pretty and popular Santana was, she essentially had nothing. Lima Heights Adjacent was the poorest neighborhood in Lima, and the house was the smallest and most run-down that they'd seen thus far. They braced themselves as they pushed open the bathroom door, trying to prepare themselves to see Santana dead. At first, they didn't even see her, and they panicked; had she backed out at the last minute? The smell of blood was in the air, and they walked towards the source of it. They peeled back the shower curtain, and there she was: dead. There was so much blood; there was no way she could have been still alive. The leader shuddered; Santana was still in her Cheerios uniform. The crimson red of the blood matched the red of the uniform a little too well. There was no way to cover this death, _no way_. And the leader wanted their death to be the only one to look like a suicide. No new blood was flowing…what to do now? The razorblade was clenched in Santana's hand; the leader took it, cringing as Santana's blood touched their skin.

They dragged the razor across Santana's legs and arms, trying their best to make things better.

But things weren't better, and things would never get better at this rate. 

_My wounds cry for the grave_  
><em>My soul cries for deliverance<em>  
><em>Will I be denied Christ?<em>  
><em>Tourniquet—my suicide<em>

**To be continued…**


	17. Interlude 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: Wow, I'm getting closer to 200 reviews! That's my ultimate goal for this story, and I really hope to achieve it. I think most of you have figured out who the leader is already, but for those of you who haven't, keep guessing! All will be revealed in chapter 22. Good luck, readers, and thanks for sticking by me! **

"Brittany?" Mr. Schuester asked as he saw the blonde staring aimlessly at the wall in the choir room. "Hey, Brittany, are you okay?"

"It's a dream," she mumbled. "It's not real."

"Here, why don't you sit down," he said, gently leading her to a chair. "Now, what's a dream? Are you feeling okay? You're not…on drugs…or anything?"

"No," she said slowly. "I'm not on anything. But I kind of wish I were right now."

"Brittany," Mr. Schue was starting to get concerned. "Do you want to go to the nurse?"

"There aren't enough sparkly Band-aids in the world to cover the pain," she said.

Mr. Schue went out into the hallway and flagged down a cheerleader who was walking on by. "Hey, do you know what's wrong with Brittany this morning?"

The girl looked at him sadly. "Santana Lopez died last night," she told him. "She and Brittany were best friends. Brittany's taking it harder than any of us, although Miss Sylvester is held up in her office. I think she's been crying."

"Thanks, Jenny," he told her. _Santana, dead?_ He ran down the hall and around the corner to Sue Sylvester's office. It was locked; he banged on the door, getting worried; this wasn't like Sue. "Sue? It's me, Will."

There was a moment's silence. He could hear her rattling the lock. "Come in," she called. Will pushed open the door. "Sue, I heard what happened to Santana."

"How much did you hear?" She was dressed in a black tracksuit, sitting behind her self-proclaimed Desk of Power. "I'll bet you didn't hear the whole story."

"Well, Brittany was upset, and Jenny told me that Santana had died last night. That's all I know. Why, did…was she…was she killed, or…"

"Do you normally kill someone by slashing their wrists?"

Mr. Schue sank into a chair. "No…Sue, Santana wouldn't…"

"Police never found a razorblade or anything she could've done it with," Sue shrugged, "though evidence is consistent with a suicide. Until they find a weapon, though, nothing can be proved nor confirmed."

"I…am so sorry," Mr. Schue could not find the words to say. "Santana…she had an amazing voice, she really did. She was a very talented girl. No wonder Brittany was so upset…they were best friends, weren't they?"

"More than that," Sue clasped her hands together. "I have it on good authority that they were in a relationship, as well. However, Santana wanted it more than Brittany did."

"I…I didn't know that," Mr. Schuester admitted. "I feel so…"

"…guilty? I think we all do," Sue shrugged. "But what can we do?"

"Are the police sure it isn't the same person who's targeted the other members of my Glee club and David Karofsky? I mean, the method of death seems to be almost the same as the others."

"Such as?"

"There was…there was always an iPod found at the scene of the crime," Mr. Schue suddenly remembered reading the police reports in the papers. "And it was always playing at least one song, and the song was always about death or internal pain. Santana's was no exception. Like…like when Mike Chang was killed. There was no gun found."

"If you shot someone," Sue said slowly. "Wouldn't you hide the gun, too?"

"Well, yes," Will said. "But if Mike killed himself, there would be a gun."

"And what of Are—Mercedes?" Sue asked. "Coincidence?"

"That one still puzzles me," Will confessed. "It _was_ raining that night."

"And what about Porcelain?"

"He was stabbed, you know that. They never found any fingerprints on the knife."

"I just don't believe he would've _killed_ himself, and that's the thing. I don't _believe_ any of these kids would kill themselves. But it's a possibility, Will, and we can't forget that."

_Three days later_

"I want to read Santana's journal," Quinn said. She flipped to the last page, since Santana hadn't marked any specifically. "Well that was anticlimactic."

"What did it say?" Rachel adjusted her skirt.

"She was a lesbian. Not really a shocker. We all knew about her thing with Brittany."

"Well, that takes care of that. Deal's a deal. I go now," Puck said to the leader.

"Oh, fine. Go ahead, Puck."

"Thank you," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "I'm finally going to see K…Chloe again."

"Good luck, and-"

"I know, I know," he groaned. "You'll see me on the other side. Yeah, yeah. Just leave me alone to die in peace, would you?"

"Yes, Puck."

**To be continued…**


	18. Puck: Anything But Ordinary

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Anything But Ordinary.**

**Note: Wow, crazy reviews for those last few chapters! I'm quite flattered that this story has taken off so well. Now, let me just say that I do study psychology at my school, and I do intend on becoming a child/adolescent psychologist. I do know what I am writing about. I am sane. I do not have a 'sick mind'. I just want to get a message across that suicide is not the solution to all of your problems, and to raise awareness that things such as suicide pacts are very real. **

* * *

><p><em><strong>Case File<strong>_

**Pact Member: Noah/Puck**

**Song: Anything But Ordinary by Avril Lavigne**

**Method of Death: Carbon monoxide poisoning**

**Time of Death: 4:00 P.M. on Thursday, March 4, 2011**

**Last Known Words: "I'm sorry, to everyone I've ever hurt."**

_Sometimes I get so weird  
>I even freak myself out<br>I laugh myself to sleep  
>It's my lullaby<em>

It was a year and a half ago or so that things began to crumble for Noah 'Puck' Puckerman.

Noah Puckerman wandered the halls of McKinley High with a dazed expression on his face. He seemed to be moving in slow-motion, the rest of the kids rushing past him, becoming a blur of color. He turned the corner, sighing as he saw his alleged best friend, Finn Hudson, striding towards him. Noah opened his mouth, about to say hello, but Finn walked right past him, so absorbed into what his girlfriend, Quinn Fabray, was saying that he didn't even notice the Mohawk-clad boy. Noah shook his head, knowing that this was the norm now. Ever since they had gotten together, Finn had completely blown Noah off for Quinn. Noah walked further down the hall, the familiar faces passing him by, each one livelier than the next.

It was so much later, or so it felt. Finn and Quinn were no longer together, but things had not changed much. He was even more alone than ever before. He closed his eyes, clutching his books close to his chest, hoping to spot the one face that would brighten his day, but the person did not come, and now, they never would. Because they were dead.

_Sometimes I drive so fast_  
><em>Just to feel the danger<em>  
><em>I wanna scream<em>  
><em>It makes me feel alive<em>

Noah walked on, hanging his head. He had not had a good night last night. His mom had gotten drunk, as usual, and passed out on the couch, bottle of sherry still in her hands. Noah had to give his little sister, Sara, her bath and get her to bed on his own. He, of course, had been doing this for years, taking care of her and essentially raising her. No one knew this secret of his, not even Finn. Finn never quite questioned why Noah never invited him over to his house, or why sleepovers were always held at Finn's own home. Noah wished he could curl up in the corner and just tell someone everything that he had gone through since his father left them seven years ago, but he couldn't. If he couldn't tell his best friend, who could he tell? He felt himself drowning in his sorrows, like he couldn't see the light at the end of the infamous tunnel that everyone speaks so fondly of. He slumped against a row of lockers, watching everyone walk past him, as if he weren't even there at all, as if he was a ghost, the ghost of the once most-feared boy at school, but who had fallen from grace and sunk into a dark, dark place.

Oh, how Noah loved the dreams in which he was dying. He loved watching it all fade to black slowly, as if in a movie. He loved feeling the fight leave his body, to feel at peace for the first time in a long time. He found it both pathetic and amusing that these were his favorite and indeed most vivid dreams.

_Is it enough to love?_  
><em>Is it enough to breathe?<em>  
><em>Somebody rip my heart out and leave me here to bleed<em>  
><em>Is it enough to die?<em>  
><em>Somebody save my life<em>  
><em>I'd rather be anything but ordinary please<em>

Puck's life was just one mistake after the next.

Mistake #1: Letting his mother turn into an alcoholic. Now, he hadn't wanted her to become addicted to alcohol; what kid wants that for their parent, especially when they had a new baby sister to take care of? But after their father had left—which was shortly after Sara was born—Puck started acting out. Psychologists said it was abandonment issues. But it wasn't, not really. It was because of his mother's fucked-up mind—drinking, neglecting baby Sara—that he started doing what he was doing. He learned to change the diapers and to warm the bottles for milk. He dressed his little sister and fed her and got her to school on time. He drove her to ballet classes and horseback riding lessons. He couldn't afford to take care of the both of them, so he had to steal what he could. He had to steal lunch money for kids so that Sara would have a lunch or a dinner. He had to steal things from convenience stores for her, like medicine or a present for Hanukkah or her birthday. Sure, they had their Nana, but she was in a nursing home and could only do so much, like watch Sara when Puck had Glee competitions. Their mother was constantly hung-over, drunk, or "entertaining" male visitors, and there was no way in hell that Puck was gonna leave his baby sister with that. He was very protective over Sara, like any big brother would be, and loved her dearly.

_To walk within the lines_  
><em>Would make my life so boring<br>I want to know that I_  
><em>Have been to the extreme<em>

Mistake #2: Getting Quinn Fabray pregnant. Another thing that he hadn't meant to do. And what guy really means to get a girl pregnant at fifteen? Granted, he was a year older than her, but that was still no excuse…especially when she was your best friend's girlfriend. He remembered the feeling when he'd heard that she was pregnant. It was like a major punch to the gut. He cursed himself for not having used a condom, for getting her buzzed on wine coolers, for even thinking he could do this and get away with it scot-free. What could he even do? Everyone thought Finn was the father, even Finn himself (how thick can you get? Puck thought. You didn't even fuck her!). Puck felt especially guilty when Quinn's father threw her out of the house. Naturally, he took her in. But she kept nagging him about hospital bills and doctor's visits and swore she'd "go to the grave swearing it was Finn's". His heart soared when he heard they would be having a baby girl. It would be just like taking care of Sara! Sara would have a baby niece!

But Finn found out the truth, and suddenly Puck was best friend-less and girlfriend-less.

Quinn hadn't even wanted to keep the baby. She wanted to give it away. Puck begged her to let him stay in the delivery room with her and to name their baby Beth. She agreed.

But now Beth was gone, and Puck had only gotten a couple days with her before they had to leave her for good.

The one good thing that he could've had, a new chance, and Quinn took her away.

Fuck my life, Puck thought. Fuck. My. Life.

_So knock me off my feet_  
><em>Come on now, give it to me<em>  
><em>Anything to make me feel alive<em>

Mistake #3: Fooling around with Santana. Well, yeah. Again, Puck knew that it was wrong, but he couldn't help it. Santana was hot, and she was sexually available. He certainly couldn't sleep with Quinn after he got her pregnant, and pools in Ohio were only open for so long. Santana provided him with what he needed and wanted: sex. But she only really seemed to care about money, not love, and he knew that she slept around often (most infamously, with Brittany).

Still, she was there, and she wanted to have sex with him. What guy says no to sex? Puck certainly didn't say no to sex. He loved sex.

Some psychologists would say he was promiscuous because he was trying to fill the void of an absent father and an alcoholic mother, but the truth was, Puck was a teenage boy. He was practically wired to need and want to have sex.

Even if it meant hurting someone like Quinn, the only girl he ever really loved.

Even if it meant hurting Kurt, who he loved more than anything.

_Is it enough to love?_  
><em>Is it enough to breathe?<em>  
><em>Somebody rip my heart out and leave me here to bleed<em>  
><em>Is it enough to die?<em>  
><em>Somebody save my life<em>  
><em>I'd rather be anything but ordinary please<em>  
><em>I'd rather be anything but ordinary please<em>

Mistake #4: Letting Kurt die. This was the one that pushed him to his breaking point. He shouldn't have let Kurt—Chloe, he reminded himself, call her Chloe—die. He should've saved her life. He should've run away with her where they could live judgment-free and in peace. But he couldn't just leave Sara behind, not with their mother. Still, he could've done something. He could've brought Chloe to a psychologist and sat with her until she was okay again. He could've held her close and told her that he loved her for who she was. He could've been honest with her. Maybe then she would've been honest with him and told him the truth herself, about being a girl. He shouldn't have slept around with Santana or Quinn or Brittany (that was one time, he shook his head, only one time) or any of those cougars. He should've been loyal to Chloe, loved her and only her. Then maybe Chloe wouldn't have killed herself in the horrific way that she did.

Puck hadn't always loved her. They'd grown up together, and he'd always kind of been like her big brother. Chloe adored him, idolized him almost. And Chloe loved him. She always had loved him. But Puck had been too blind to notice—or care. It wasn't until Chloe had grown up practically overnight that he took notice to her and began to sort-of date her. He swore he'd never go out with a guy, but now he realized he had been attracted to her because she was really a girl inside.

Or was that the reason after all?

_Let down your defenses_  
><em>Use no common sense<em>  
><em>If you look you will see that this world is a beautiful<em>  
><em>Accident, turbulent, succulent, opulent, permanent, no way<em>  
><em>I wanna taste it, don't wanna waste it away<em>

No, Puck now realized. That wasn't the reason I loved her so much. I loved her because she actually understood me. She was there when my father left. She was there when Sara was born. She was there when my Grandpa died. She's the only one who's actually seen me cry. She's the only person outside my family that I've felt one-hundred percent comfortable with.

And I hurt her, by getting Quinn pregnant.

And I hurt her, by cheating on her with other women.

And I hurt her, by not understanding enough.

And I hurt her, by letting her die.

He couldn't turn back the clock now. He couldn't go back in time and not get Quinn pregnant, or fool around with Santana, or tell Chloe that he loved her. Sex with Chloe wasn't just for pleasure. It was a beautiful experience, slow and wonderful. He'd held her close afterwards, and she'd fallen asleep in his arms. It was the only time he'd _felt_ something after sex other than an intense high from an orgasm.

He'd loved her, and he let her get away.

Like how he'd let Quinn get away.

And how he'd let Beth get away.

Three people whom he loved that he would never get back now.

And he hated himself for it.

_Sometimes I get so weird_  
><em>I even freak myself out<em>  
><em>I laugh my self to sleep<em>  
><em>It's my lullaby<em>

Puck was entirely too grateful that he had dropped Sara off with their Nana after school, feigning an upset stomach, claiming that he didn't want Sara to get sick, too, should he be contagious. He didn't want her to be in the house when he went to meet his maker. In fact, the last thing he wanted was for his little sister—the person he loved most, besides Chloe and Beth and his Nana—to find him dead in the garage. And God forbid that she be poisoned, too. He wouldn't be able to bear the guilt if he'd accidentally killed his little sister. He sighed and locked the door from the kitchen to the garage. He climbed into his truck, closing the door and starting the engine, rolling down the window a bit. He started playing the song and grabbed the journal from his glove compartment. As he started to get woozy, he sent a text.

**Puck: I don't think it will be long now. Finally. I can't wait.**

**(512) 425-9821: Well, they'll all see you on the other side. I'm sure Chloe will be very happy to see you again.**

Puck bit his lip and sent just one more text.

**Puck: I love you.**

Oh please, please answer, he thought desperately as breathing got harder. If I just get this reply, if I just know they read it, I can die peacefully, no loose ends. Time was running out…

**(512) 425-9821: I love you, too.**

Puck breathed a sigh of relief and powered down his phone forever.

It was the last thing he'd ever do.

And those were the last words he ever read.

_Is it enough? Is it enough?_  
><em>Is it enough to breathe?<em>  
><em>Somebody rip my heart out and leave me here to bleed<em>  
><em>Is it enough to die?<em>  
><em>Somebody save my life<em>  
><em>I'd rather be anything but ordinary please<em>

The leader opened the door to Puck's garage, as they had been told to do. They took in a deep breath and held it, as not to breathe in too much of the deadly fumes. They yanked the driver-side door of Puck's truck open, cutting the engine quickly and swiftly. "Oof," they groaned as Puck's heavy body fell over onto them.

Then again, it wasn't the first time they had felt Puck on top of them (although now it was certainly the last time).

They began to panic; why was this one hurting so badly, inside? They had no idea, no idea at all, how to frame this one. After pondering for several minutes, they lugged Puck's body inside and to his bedroom. Okay, so that was only one small part of the plan. But what to do now?

They had an idea. Puck had wanted to go see Kurt—err, Chloe, they reminded themselves—so badly. So why not die like Chloe had died? They found a particularly sharp tool back down in the garage and, hands shaking, plunged it into Puck's stomach.

They looked down, Puck's blood on their hands, and they nearly vomited.

They had become a monster. An unstoppable, murdering machine.

There were only two of them left.

And neither could survive.

_Is it enough?_  
><em>Is it enough to die?<em>  
><em>Somebody save my life<em>  
><em>I'd rather be anything but ordinary please<em>  
><em>I'd rather be anything but ordinary please<em>

**To be continued…**


	19. Interlude 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: Well, this story officially has the most reviews I've ever gotten on a story! Thanks so much, everyone! Anyway, here we go. I'm sure you know what will happen next, but if you don't…let's just say you'll find out. **

"Hey, Mr. Schue, so I was thinking about my future, and-"

"Finn, choir room, right now," the teacher pointed him towards the uncomfortably empty room.

"Hey, where is everyone?" Finn looked around. "Rachel, Quinn, where are they?"

"They stayed at home today," Mr. Schue said. "And I haven't seen Brittany yet. Finn, I have some news for you."

"Wait, where's Puck? I gotta tell him something," Finn wiggled nervously in his chair.

"Finn," Mr. Schue sighed. "Puck passed away yesterday."

"What?" Finn felt his stomach turn to ice. "Wait, no, he…I saw him in last period, he was fine!"

"He, like Kurt, was stabbed. I'm so sorry, Finn."

"My best friend and my brother were killed in the same year," Finn said, his voice cracking with pain. "No…it's…Mr. Schue, please tell me this isn't true. Please."

"I'm afraid so," Mr. Schue shook his head. "They're thinking it was the same person who…well, you know. Quinn was very distressed, as was Rachel. Actually, I could barely understand what Quinn was saying to me, she was crying so hard…"

"Quinn…" Finn murmured. "Rachel! Are they…are they safe?"

"As far as I know, yes. But I advise the remaining four of you to stick close, okay? God, I just don't understand why someone would want to murder an entire high school show choir. It doesn't make any sense, any of it. Why would Kurt and Puck be murdered in the same way? None of the others…were…"

"They were…uh," Finn rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "They were, let's say, involved."

"Involved?" Mr. Schue narrowed his eyes. "Finn, what are you talking about?"

"Well, there was this particularly embarrassing time when I accidentally almost walked in on them…uh, well…having sex," Finn confessed. "And I might have accidentally-on-purpose eavesdropped on them and Puck told Kurt that he loved him and Kurt said it back…I never said anything until now."

"But Puck and Quinn…"

Finn shrugged. "He had something special with Kurt. The time I found out they were…having sex…I wanted to hurt Puck. No one messes…messed…with my brother. I thought he was just using Kurt for sex. But when I saw him at Kurt's funeral, I saw that he really cared about my brother. You know?"

"Finn, this must be really hard on you. I don't blame you if you want to go home now or anything. Go hang out with Quinn or Rachel. They might want you around."

_Meanwhile_

"I don't want to do this anymore," one girl rocked back and forth, clasping her knees to her chest. "I can't do this, I just can't."

"We have to," the other gently reminded her. "We're the only two left. We can't back out now. It just isn't fair to have them all in Heaven without us."

"But…to die…"

"…would be an awfully big adventure," she finished the quote.

"I'm not sure that I'm ready for that adventure."

"Oh, but you are." The girl kissed the other girl's forehead. "I am, too. I won't be far behind you."

"But what about…"

"Finn? Finn will be fine without us. He's hurt us both. He doesn't deserve us."

"That's not who I meant. You know who I meant."

"She'll be fine, too. She doesn't need me, either."

"How can you stand to see their faces after they've…died?"

The girl shrugged. "I just…can."

"Why…why am I the last one to go?"

"Because you're very special to me."

"Oh."

"You _are_ brave enough, and you _can_ do this."

"Thanks…"

"You're welcome. Now, go, before Finn comes after us and tries to talk to us about Puck. You know he will. He didn't know until he got to school this morning, I think. I didn't call him. Did you?" The other shook her head. "Didn't think so. God be with you."

"And may He be with you as well."

**To be continued…**


	20. Rachel: Angel

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Angel.**

**Note: Wow, nearly 200 reviews! Thanks so much, readers! Well, this chapter confirms who the leader is. Actually, the chapter title alone pretty much says it all. So, if you were right, yay for you! This is officially my most-reviewed story, and for that, I'm very grateful to you, the readers and fans. Stick around for the last three chapters! Thanks again!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Case File<strong>_

**Pact Member: Rachel**

**Song: Angel by Sarah McLaughlin**

**Method of Death: Drowning**

**Time of Death: 6:30 P.M. on Friday, April 13, 2012**

**Last Known Words: "All I wanted was to be like you."**

_Spend all your time waiting  
>For that second chance<br>For a break that would make it okay  
>There's always some reason<br>To feel not good enough_

For Rachel 'Barbra' Berry, there were always a dozen reasons to feel not good enough.

She had a big nose.

She was Jewish.

She couldn't hold down a boyfriend.

She was at the bottom of the social totem pole.

She had to share the spotlight.

Her mother never wanted her.

She had a secret that no one else would've suspected of her.

No matter what the situation, Rachel could always find a reason to not feel good enough. It didn't matter which one she chose; it was all the same anyway. She just wanted a second chance, where she could do everything all over again and right the wrongs she had made. She just wanted to apologize to everyone who she'd ever annoyed or hurt or made feel inferior. She wanted to bring Kurt back and apologize to him for not being there for him when he was being bullied. She wanted to bring Tina and Mercedes back and allow them to share the spotlight with her, even let them have it for themselves. She wanted to bring Puck back and tell him she was sorry for breaking up with him. She even wanted to bring Artie back to apologize for being mean to him the first day of Glee club, over a year ago.

But she couldn't. They were all dead.

She could've saved them. Could've been the heroine and saved all of them.

Then maybe they would've liked her more.

Then maybe they would've appreciated her more.  
><em><br>And it's hard at the end of the day  
>I need some distraction<br>Oh, beautiful release  
>Memories seep from my veins<br>Let me be empty and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight_

She was sick of being perfect.

Perfect. There was no such thing as perfect, she had always been told. But she strove towards that unreachable goal. Rachel liked unreachable goals. The harder to obtain, the better. The more she tried, the more she felt as if she'd succeeded. She surrounded herself with a barrage of classes and lessons in everything to ensure that she was a perfect person. She studied when she had a free moment to keep her 4.0 average. She managed to get sleep, and she worked out in the morning to keep as perfect a body as she could.

But it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

No one appreciated her talents.

No one saw her as anything but academically and vocally talented.

No one cared that she was on heavy sleep medications for her excessive nightmares and pills for her obsessive-compulsive tendencies.

She was perfect to no one but herself.

She wasn't a cheerleader with blonde hair and blue eyes.

She wasn't a size two Prom Queen.

She wasn't anything but an arrogant girl.

A girl whom nobody liked.  
><em><br>In the arms of the angel  
>Fly away from here<br>From this dark cold hotel room  
>And the endlessness that you fear<em>

"Finn…"

"Yeah, Rachel?"

"Have you ever…I…in your opinion…what's the best way to die?"

He looked at her in shock. "Rachel, what are you talking about?"

"It's for a project," she said quickly. "For my psychology class. What's the best way to die? I'm interviewing people about this. What do you say?"

He looked at her curiously. "Well, if it's for a project…okay. Hmm. I guess…nah, that's painful. I've heard hanging is pretty quick, but if we're talking about like a natural death then I guess dying in your sleep isn't bad. Though I've heard drowning isn't a bad way to go, either."

"Drowning is rather poetic," Rachel mused. "It's like Ophelia in _Hamlet_, or Inspector Javert in _Les Miserables_."

"Isn't that the musical where like, everyone dies?"

"Pretty much, yes," Rachel said, "though I wouldn't mind playing Eponine."

"Not Ophelia?" Finn asked amusedly.

"No," she said. "I mean, I wouldn't be opposed to that, but I'd rather sing."

"Got any more questions for that project of yours?"

"Oh," Rachel nodded, still playing the lie. "Yes. Have you ever considered suicide?"

"Once or twice," Finn admitted. "But never seriously, and I wouldn't do it now."

"How would you feel if…if I committed suicide?"

"Rachel, quit playing around," Finn laughed. "You? Kill yourself? Never."

"But…let's say I was to commit suicide," Rachel said softly. "You'd be upset, wouldn't you? You'd cry, wouldn't you?"

"Of course," Finn told her. "But let's get real here, Rachel. You're not brave enough."

"Right. Well, thanks. I have all I need from you for my project. Thanks." She hugged him and walked off down the hall. Not brave enough, am I? She thought. You'll see. You'll all see.  
><em><br>You are pulled from the wreckage  
>Of your silent reverie<br>You're in the arms of the angel  
>May you find some comfort here<em>

Rachel loved Finn.

Of course she loved Finn. Although he wasn't her first boyfriend—that honor had, surprisingly, belonged to Puck—he had been the first boy she'd really had these feelings for. But had had been with Quinn at the time, and would never have taken a second glance at Rachel, normally.

But Quinn getting pregnant by Finn's best friend certainly wasn't the norm.

And when he found out, Rachel had been his rebound girl.

Exactly. _Rebound_ girl.

It hadn't lasted long, to say the least.

That's when she rebounded off of Finn's rebound and dated Jesse St. James.

Who, of course, was just playing her so he could spy on New Directions for Vocal Adrenaline.

And had managed to coerce her into giving him her virginity.

Which, of course, she now regretted.

He shouldn't have been her first. Finn should have.

Right? Shouldn't he have been the one to take her precious gift?

Rachel didn't even know anymore.  
><em><br>So tired of the straight line  
>And everywhere you turn<br>There's vultures and thieves at your back  
>And the storm keeps on twisting<em>

Rachel loved Finn, yes.

But she also loved Quinn.

Oh, how she loved and envied the blonde. Quinn was everything Rachel wanted to be and more. She was pretty, and popular, and perfect. She was the cheerleader with the quarterback boyfriend. She was kind and sweet to homeless people and children. She didn't care if her voice was the best in Glee club, and she didn't have to. She was a shoo-in for Prom Queen, for sure, especially now that Santana was…well, dead.

Rachel had fallen for Quinn well before she had fallen for Finn. The blonde had caught her eye from across the hall, her hips swaying as she strutted down the hall in her cheerleading uniform. Her stance was confident, and she radiated beauty and health. Rachel wasn't sure if this was just a silly girl-crush or an infatuation, but she was captivated by Quinn Fabray.

And she didn't want to stop being under Quinn's spell.

It was when Quinn was with Finn that killed Rachel the most inside.

Quinn never found out that Rachel loved her, in this sick, twisted way.

It was to the point where Rachel would endlessly stalk Quinn's Facebook feed and purposely wait for her to come down the hall.

It was to the point where Rachel wanted to be Quinn.

Not be with her. But be her.  
><em><br>You keep on building the lies  
>That you make up for all that you lack<br>It don't make no difference  
>Escaping one last time<em>

She'd made up her mind: she would be a method actress and drown in her sorrows.

Literally.

There was a perfect spot to do it. It would be poetic. It would be beautiful. She would be immortal, a living legacy, even if it was only in Lima, Ohio.

It would be wonderful, just to jump into that cool, blue water.

To feel it swirling around her, caressing her, encompassing her soul and body.

To feel it pull her down, down, down into its unforgiving depths, until her body was dragged out hours, maybe days later.

To block them all out: Finn, Quinn, Jesse…

Her mother, who gave her away, and when they were finally reunited, still didn't want her, and instead adopted Quinn's own baby girl.

Her fathers, who expected too much from her.

She wondered if there would be any noises down there at all…

She started to hum a familiar tune as she backed her car out of the driveway and to the cliff. She could already feel the rocks beneath her feet. She could hear the crash of the water against the shore. She could smell it in the air: release.

She kind of wished Quinn would die with her.

But it was not to be.

And Rachel just didn't give a fuck anymore.  
><em><br>It's easier to believe in this sweet madness, oh  
>This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees<em>

"Get to Rachel," she muttered under her breath. "Get to Rachel, get to Rachel."

It was a race against the clock, and she was losing.

It would be so easy, to just stop the girl from jumping. It would be so easy, to just tell her the truth and to save her life. It would be so easy, to just let it all go for once.

She breathed a sigh of intense relief when she saw Rachel standing on the edge of the cliff, seemingly paralyzed, unable to make that leap into the raging river below. She got out of her car, heart pounding like it never had before. "RACHEL!"

Rachel spun around, caught off-guard by the sudden noise, this voice calling out for her. As she did so, she stumbled, falling to her knees, almost off of the face of the cliff. "No!" She screamed. Her feet raced, flew, as they pounded the ground beneath them. She managed to grab Rachel's hands moments before she made the plunge.

"Quinn…you came back…you came to save me."

"Yes," Quinn's bright green eyes brimmed with tears. "I did. I couldn't let you go, Rachel. Not like I let all the others go." She gasped, struggling under Rachel's weight, which she was trying to hold up so she could drag the brunette to safety.

"You can't hold me, Quinn. You're going to go over with me if you try," Rachel's voice was choked with emotion and adrenaline. "One of us has to let go."

"I can't…," Quinn grunted, "I can't do that. Not this time."

"Please, Quinn, don't kill yourself trying to save me. You've gotta let go."

"Rachel, no, don't…oof…I can't…hold on much longer…"

"All I ever wanted was to be like you," Rachel whispered as she slipped from Quinn's fingers and fell down, down, down into the river.

"No!" Quinn screamed. "Rachel, no! Swim to safety! Don't…don't die," she whispered.  
><em><br>In the arms of the angel  
>Fly away from here<br>From this dark cold hotel room  
>And the endlessness that you fear<em>

Drowning wasn't as bad as Rachel thought it would be.

She could barely hear what Quinn was shouting to her over the crashing of the water. She wanted to lie on her back and let the waves carry her wherever she let them, but she made a promise, on paper. She had to die, and she had to die today. She stopped struggling and let the water rush over her head. She initially gasped for breath, but then just let things happen. The water started to pull her down as she let her body go limp, and she let it.

A sort of pleasant feeling washed over her as she went under. It was nice under here. There were no sounds to hear or big things to see. There was nothing to smell or taste. There was only water above her, and water below her, water surrounding her on all sides. It was cool and calm, not to mention cold. She was vaguely reminded of _Titanic_. Only one of them could go to safety. Only one would be forced to drown in the cold, unforgiving waters.

Oxygen did not come, and she didn't want it to come. Her lungs were burning, burning for air, but it felt nice. After another endless minute, she was sure she could hear voices.

The voices of her friends who'd died before her.

Telling her to let go, to join them in the afterlife.

Quinn's voice, telling her that she loved her.

Quinn's voice, telling her to let go.

And so she did.  
><em><br>You are pulled from the wreckage  
>Of your silent reverie<br>You're in the arms of the angel  
>May you find some comfort here<em>

"No," Quinn sobbed. "No, Rachel…oh my God, no…"

How was she going to fix this?

Nothing would ever, ever be the same.

If she weren't about to kill herself, she knew Finn would do it for her.

She was a monster. A heartless, cold monster.

She wanted nothing more than to jump in after Rachel. She was called back by her own rules, and backed away from the cliff. She had to wait a couple of weeks before she died herself.

Then again, it was the only one to look like a suicide.

They'd fish Rachel's body out of the river soon enough. They'd link it to the other 'murders' of the McKinley High students.

Until the truth was revealed.

But by that time, they'd all be long dead and unable to face reality.  
><em><br>You're in the arms of the angel  
>May you find some comfort here<em>

**To be continued…**


	21. Interlude 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: Over 200 reviews! Wow, thanks! Quite obviously, the leader is Quinn, and that will all be explained in the next chapter. There's two chapters after this one, so stick around. Also, I have posted the first chapter of a NEW Rory/Sam story, "Losing My Religion", so go check that out, too. Thanks again, readers.**

"I'm so sick of seeing all these damn teenagers down here."

"I know," his co-worker complained. "Ten murders in eight months. Ridiculous."

"Are you sure they were murders?"

"What do you mean?"

"Has no one thought that these may have been suicides?"

He shivered, and not just because it was ice-cold in the morgue. "No…"

"Remember that one with the Mohawk? Carbon monoxide, in his system. But none of the alarms went off in the house. Car was found with no gas left in it. Yeah, he was stabbed, but I dunno. Seems kind of fishy to me."

"And this one, right here?"

"Drowned, obviously. But take a look at these abrasions on her arms and knees. Look at this contusion on her cranium. Hit her head at some point, but not enough to knock her unconscious. Might have struggled at the scene of the crime. Knees are skinned, and so are her hands and elbows."

"If she willingly jumped, she wouldn't have these cuts…right?"

"Well, take a closer look at her wrists."

"Damn. Looks like these were intentional. But they're not very deep, are they?"

"No, quite shallow. But she may or may not have been self-harming."

"I just don't get it," he sighed. "Why would all these kids die in the most random ways? One was strangled, one was shot, another two were stabbed…"

"Rumor has it they were all part of the Glee club at McKinley High School. Out of the twelve members that started at the beginning of the year, only three are left."

"Seriously? You don't think..."

"I don't know. But I know for sure that at this rate, they'll all be dead by the end of the year."

_Two days before_

"Rachel's not answering her phone. Do you know where she is?"

"Sorry, Finn," Leroy Berry apologized. "She went for a drive earlier. She said she had to get some…err, feminine hygiene products at the store."

"Oh," Finn turned red. "Well, when she comes in, can you tell her I called?"

"Sure thing."

As soon as Finn hung up, his phone rang. The caller ID showed that it was Quinn. Rolling his eyes, he grudgingly answered. "What is it now, Quinn?"

"I can't find Rachel. I tried calling her cell five times, and she's not picking up. It's so not like her. I'm just…I'm worried that she…"

"Yeah, she's not answering me, either," Finn began to panic. "What if something's happened to her? What if the…the killer…my brother's killer…got her too?"

"Oh," Quinn let out a low sob. "Oh, God, please, no…"

"I'll be right over," Finn said as he grabbed his car keys and his coat.

_Four days later_

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Finn Hudson hasn't left his room in days."

"I heard he went mental and almost killed himself."

"No, I heard he screamed and begged to be shown her body."

"Well, she was kind of annoying, anyway."

"Yeah, always bragging about what a good singer she was."

"I hear Brittany Pearce is moving away 'cause she can't deal with Santana's death."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"It's a shame, all those Glee kids getting killed."

"Did anyone really care about them, anyway?"

"I suppose you're right."

Quinn squeezed her eyes shut as she listened to the rumors. They swirled around the halls like the first snowfall of the year. How could they be talking about all of them like that? It was so disrespectful to their memories, to be saying that no one cared about them. The rumors about Finn, she could deal with. The rumors about Brittany, well, they were pretty much true.

But she couldn't deal with the rumors about Rachel.

It wasn't just the rumors (that she'd jumped, that Finn had pushed her), but the word that no one gave a shit about the brunette. No one cared that she'd died tragically.

And no one would care when Quinn died, too, the way she saw it.

_What rumors would spread about her?_

She figured they couldn't have been worse than the ones about her when she had gotten pregnant, or when everyone found out that it wasn't Finn's child, or the time people were speculating that she was a lesbian, or the horrible, horrible ones in middle school...

She wanted to die. So badly.

It was just a matter of time before she completely lost control.

**To be continued…**


	22. Quinn: Breathe No More

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Breathe No More**

**Note: Wow, lots of reviews on this story. Well, here it is; the big one. This is Quinn's backstory and the chapter you've all been waiting for. I will be posting the Epilogue in a few days, I promise. It's finals time here, so things are a bit busy.  
><strong>

**Warning: Semi-graphic suicide.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Case File<strong>_

**Pact Member: Quinn**

**Song: Breathe No More by Evanescence**

**Method of Death: Everything**

**Time of Death: 3:00 P.M. on Saturday, May 4, 2012**

**Last Known Words: "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take."**

_I've been looking in the mirror for so long  
>That I've come to believe my soul's on the other side<br>All the little pieces falling, shatter  
>Shards of me too sharp to put back together<em>

"Look into the mirror, who's inside there? The one with the long hair. Same old me again today," Quinn sang softly as she brushed her hair and pulled it back into a sharp, tight ponytail. She rifled through the clothes hanging in her closet and pulled out a short black dress. It was the one that she had worn to pretty much all of her friend's funeral services, and it was the one she wanted to die in. It fit her perfectly, and would be comfortable for what she was to do later that afternoon. She looked at herself in the mirror again. The face staring back at her was flawless and beautiful. She radiated youth. She spun around, the skirt of the dress flowing around her. "Gorgeous, as always."

Girls wanted to be her.

Guys wanted to be with her.

Teachers and adults adored her.

She had a decent singing voice, and she could play piano.

She was a size two—against the odds—and had blonde hair and green eyes.

In short, she was the perfect girl.

Too bad the mirror didn't show everything about Quinn Fabray.  
><em><br>Too small to matter  
>But big enough to cut me into so many little pieces<br>If I try to touch her_

Quinn hadn't always been pretty.

In fact, she'd been called downright ugly before by her peers.

She'd had plain brown hair, all frizzy and stringy. She'd had severe acne, and she'd had braces.

Not just braces, but braces and glasses.

Her nose was crooked, and she never wore makeup.

And, worst of all, she'd been about a hundred pounds overweight.

No one liked her. No one wanted to be her friend. She was the school outcast, forever wishing she could be part of the popular crowd.

She had been the Rachel Berry of her middle school, albeit less annoying.

She knew what it was like to stand on the fringe of society.

What it felt like to be on the outside looking in.

What if felt like to be friendless and hated.

But then she'd joined ballet class, and it helped her to lose weight. She'd discovered that she was flexible, and lost more weight through cheerleading.

She'd gotten contact lenses for her eyes, and her braces came off sooner than she'd thought they would.

She dyed her hair blonde and gotten prescription acne medication. She started wearing makeup and dressing prettier.

By the time she got to high school, the transformation was complete. She was a freshman and already on the varsity cheerleading team. When she got to her sophomore year, she was cheer captain, and she had snagged the quarterback of the football team.

What could go wrong, really?

No one had to know who the real Quinn was.

Or that her real name wasn't even Quinn.  
><em><br>And I bleed  
>I bleed<br>And I breathe  
>I breathe no more<em>

Lucy.

It sounded like a name of someone on a farm, or in an Amish family.

Quinn…now Quinn was the name of a future Prom Queen.

Quinn was the name of a beautiful person.

Quinn was the name of a cheerleading captain.

Lucy Quinn Fabray. Even saying it now made her cringe. It brought back all memories of people calling her Lucy Caboosey. Every so often, she'd get a Juicy Lucy, but the main nickname seemed to be Lucy Caboosey.

It made her cry, late at night. It made her want to stay home from school, and she often faked sick so she wouldn't have to face her cruel classmates.

Quinn was a name you couldn't make fun of. It was perfect, like her exterior.

It was easy to enter high school and go by the name of Quinn Fabray. No one here knew her. No one here knew her past. She hid all the old pictures of her in the house when friends came over, or else said it was a cousin.

And now, no one would know the true Quinn.

No one would know Lucy.

Ever.

And that's the way she wanted it to be.  
><em><br>Take a breath and I try  
>To draw from my spirits<br>Well, yet again you refuse to drink  
>Like a stubborn child<em>

Why had she slept with Puck?

She had felt fat that day. Of course she had. When hadn't she? Even after she'd slimmed down to that ideal 115 pounds, she still felt fat. Puck invited her over, and she talked to him. He'd brought wine coolers. They'd had a few drinks. They'd kissed. She felt a little guilty; she was dating Finn, not Puck. But it felt good, and she liked it. He said he had protection covered. It was just another pretty little lie, like everything she'd ever known.

She remembered the day she took the pregnancy test. She'd held her breath as the little line slowly came onto the screen.

And her heart broke.

Her hands had fluttered to her stomach. _A child. I'm carrying a child._

And not her boyfriend's child. Oh, no. It figured that Quinn would cheat just one time and get pregnant. She'd get pregnant the first time she had sex, of course.

Telling them had been the hardest thing she'd had to do.

Finn thought it was his.

Puck _knew_ it was his.

So when the truth finally got out to Finn, she knew she'd fucked everything up even more than she already had. She had no boyfriend, no friends, no place on the cheerleading squad.

And no home.

She felt bad for floating around between her friends' homes, but what could she do? Her father had forced her to pack her bags and leave his house.

She could've gotten an abortion. But she knew God wouldn't have wanted her to.

So she went through with it, secretly praying for a miscarriage.

But she went into labor, and gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl.

Whom she promptly gave away to the first person who wanted her.

God, what kind of cold-hearted monster was she?  
><em><br>Lie to me  
>Convince me that I've been sick forever<br>And all of this  
>Will make sense when I get better<em>

She'd paged through Rachel's journal. She never had gotten along too well with the brunette. Perhaps it was because Rachel was annoying, likened to a mosquito. Perhaps it was because Finn had always seemed to love Rachel more than he loved her. Perhaps it was because Rachel was ultimately a better person than Quinn was or would ever be.

Whatever the reason, Quinn never had liked Rachel too much.

But she never wanted someone to kill themselves because they were in love with her.

Quinn knew Rachel had a serious thing for her. It was obvious to pretty much anyone with eyes. But Quinn had pushed her away; she was straight, and she didn't want Rachel's advances.

What that what had pushed Rachel-literally-off the edge?

Of course Rachel had written pages about how talented she was and how much she idolized Barbra Streisand. But then she had written pages not about Finn, as Quinn had suspected, but about her, surrounded by little hearts, nonetheless. Quinn sighed; she should've known. She carefully tore out some of the pages with the best stuff on it and added them to the pile of the other torn-out pages from the other journals. She then ripped out a page from her own journal and stapled all the pages from all eleven journals together; it would be good evidence and proof in the future.  
><em><br>But I know the difference  
>Between myself and my reflection<br>I just can't help but to wonder  
>Which of us do you love?<em>

Quinn loved Finn, and would love Finn until after she had breathed her last. But she didn't know how he loved her. They were an obvious match from the start; she the pretty blonde cheerleader and he the star of the football team.

But did he love her, or her beauty?

Did he love her or the girl he saw in the mirror, the girl he wanted her to be?

Quinn had figured out the difference a long time ago. The girl in the mirror was the pretty, confident girl. She had the looks, and she had the intelligence. She didn't have any blemishes or boils on her face. Her makeup was always perfect, her hair was always in place. In essence, Quinn Fabray was flawless, the girl other girls would die to be.

The girl another girl literally did die to be.

Quinn knew the mirror lied. The mirror never showed what was on the inside. And on the inside was a monster. On the inside was the ugliest girl Quinn had ever met. The girl who convinced her friends to kill themselves. The girl who cut up one of her best friends and stabbed the father of her child through the stomach. The girl who hadn't been strong enough to hold her rival over the face of a cliff.

The girl who would stop at nothing until she got what she wanted.  
><em><br>So I bleed  
>I bleed<br>And I breathe  
>I breathe no<em>

Quinn wanted to take as much of her friends with her into her next life as she could. As a faithful Christian, she naturally believed in Heaven, though she knew with her sins, she'd most likely be going straight down to Hell. Which was fine; she liked warmer weather anyway. She couldn't take everything of them, of course. She couldn't die the way Mercedes did, or the way Mike did, or Tina, or even Dave. She decided to take a bit of Chloe, a bit of Santana, a bit of Artie, a hint of Sam, and a lot of Rachel with her. She slipped her gold cross necklace around her neck and kissed the rosary that was hanging over the corner of a picture of the Virgin Mary.

She grabbed a razorblade from where she'd hidden it and made two nice cuts down the length of her arms. They weren't deep enough to slash her veins, but enough to let her bleed her pain out of her skin. She quickly swallowed some prenatal vitamins—left over from when she'd had Beth—swigged with a little whisky.

Ah, so this is what it had been like for them.

She made sure the papers were where she needed them to be—the Pact itself and the journals—and headed to the bathroom with the knife and the rope. She began to run the water in the bathtub and sat on the edge of the tub as she waited for it to fill. She stabbed her legs and her stomach with the knife, but not deep enough to cause too much damage. She just wanted to hurt the parts of her she always had hated the most. As she bleed, she turned off the water. She slipped into the tub, sighing as the water rushed around her, blood swirling the edges of it.

She slid the rope around her neck, tugging it so that she could just barely breathe.

And with that, she lay down and ducked her head under the water.

It took a few minutes for her to die.

But it seemed like an eternity.

She could hear them calling her name.

The angels, her friends, calling her down, down…until she breathed no more.  
><em><br>Bleed  
>I bleed<br>And I breathe  
>I breathe<em>

"Quinn…Quinn…"

Quinn's eyes fluttered open. Where was she? She looked around. It was a seemingly never-ending void. Wisps of white smoke swirled around the edges, and she wondered if she could step off and fall down forever, or if it was an illusion. Someone was walking out of the blackness, then another, and another. One by one, each of her missing friends joined her in that black space. They were the only things she could see. She spun around; nothing. Nothing to her either side of her, too. Just the smoke twisting around her feet and ten people standing in front of her; Artie seemed to have regained his walking in this strange afterlife she found herself in. "Quinn," they were saying.

"I'm here," she blinked back tears. "I'm finally here. But…where are we?"

"A parallel dimension, a purgatory, if you will," Artie explained.

She looked around; Heaven this wasn't. "Why isn't there anything else here?"

"Because we've taken away our lives," Mike spoke up. "So because we took away such a precious gift, we don't get any in the afterlife. We're pretty much stuck like this."

Her tongue felt thick, her mouth dry. "Forever?"

"Thanks a lot," Karofsky said sarcastically.

Quinn pressed her hands to her stomach and noticed something funny. "No wounds," she murmured. "How come…we're not…in the form that we died in?"

"One of the only positive effects of the afterlife," Tina said quietly.

"At least we're all together?" Rachel said, more of a question than a statement.

"Why is no one else here?" Quinn asked.

"No one's been able to figure that out yet," Mercedes shrugged.

"We've pretty much just sat around waiting for the next person to come here," Sam added. "Hi, Quinn," he said shyly.

"Did anything good happen?" She tried.

"Artie and I made up," Tina gave her a small smile.

"So did Chloe and I," Puck grinned.

It was only then when Quinn realized that Kurt wasn't there. She did another head count, and only then noticed the pretty brown-haired girl hanging around near Puck. She wouldn't have known if it weren't for those haunting blue-grey eyes. "Chloe?"

"Hi," she whispered.

"Amazing," Quinn took a step towards her. "You're how you've always wanted to be. Who you always should have been. You're beautiful, Chloe."

"Thanks. Artie obviously regained his legs. So I guess there are some nice things about this…place," Chloe said.

"We might as well make the most of it," Quinn said.

"There are some catches," Santana warned her.

"What might those be?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Santana smirked.

Quinn felt relieved; she was finally dead.

She was with her friends again.

And best of all, she was free.  
><em><br>I breathe  
>I breathe no more<em>

**To be finished…**


	23. Afterword

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: Wow, thank you so much for the numerous reviews and alerts/adds! I never did expect this story to take off the way it did, but I'm so glad it did. Again I emphasize that suicide is NEVER the answer. Please, if you or a friend are contemplating it, get help immediately. Stay strong. Thanks for sticking by me. Much love, GirlInTheMirror. xox**

* * *

><p><em>We the undersigned of the McKinley Suicide Pact agree to the following:<em>

_1. You must complete your task within the day you are chosen for. No exceptions._

_2. You cannot choose the method that the person before you chose._

_ a. For example, if Person B selects hanging, Person C may not choose hanging as well._

_3. The leader of the group (and you very know who this is) will select the order in which you will die. They will be the last to carry out the deed. _

_4. No one must know of this Pact. Anyone who does reveal details of the Pact will be expelled from the group. _

_5. As members of Glee Club, you must select a song that will play as you are dying._

_ a. Preferably one that relates to suicide or the abuses that you have suffered._

_ b. No two people may select the same song._

_6. Select your method of death carefully. If you should fail (i.e. botch things up), you will be expelled from the group._

_Good luck. We will meet again on the other side._

_Signed,_

_Rachel Berry _ **Santana Lopez **Artie Abrams

Sam Evans _Tina Cohen-Chang _ Mike Chang

_**Kurt E. Hummel **_Noah 'Puck' Puckerman **Mercedes Jones**

_** QUINN FABRAY **_

_David Karofsky_

The Pact was discovered by Quinn's mother after she came home to find her baby girl dead in the bathtub at sixteen. It was then shown to the victim's families, who also received copies of their children's journal pages that were the chronicles of their pain. Mrs. Cohen-Chang divorced her husband after she learned what he had done to their daughter. Burt Hummel collapsed into a heap after he realized that the son he'd loved was really, in fact, his daughter. Sara Puckerman was placed under the guardianship of her grandmother, and her mother was sent to a rehabilitation center in hopes of curing her of her alcoholism. The Evans family, heartbroken, moved to Kentucky. The rest of the families grieved in their own private, personal ways.  
>Sue Sylvester, devastated over the loss of her two best—and personal favorite—Cheerios, resigned from McKinley and started coaching at a school in Sandusky. She never forgave herself for what happened to Santana and Quinn, and felt as if she could have prevented the latter's death.<p>

Brittany Pearce, heartbroken over Quinn and Santana's deaths, moved as far away as she could out of grief and sorrow. She felt especially guilty over the fact that Santana had talked so openly about suicide, and she didn't tell anyone about it. She never went back to Lima.

Finn Hudson, upon learning of the Pact, had a mental breakdown and turned to alcohol to numb his pain over his two ex-girlfriends and his stepbrother—well, stepsister—killing themselves in brutal ways. He dropped out of school, and two years later, while sitting alone in his apartment, blew his brains out, much to the dismay of those watching him from the afterlife. He did not join them there, for reasons none of them understood.

Will Schuester had been making tributes to his fallen students since Artie had taken his life. If you were to walk into the choir room today, you'd find ten memorials set up around the room, and in the center of it all, a framed copy of the Pact, to serve as a reminder and a warning. It was a cautionary tale, of sorts. You may have seen their story on the news, or perhaps you read about it in the major newspapers. It did make the national news, after all. It's not every day that an eleven-person suicide pact takes place and is carried out successfully, especially in small-town Ohio.

He stood there, a year after it all, and looked out at the new faces smiling up at him. They had been so eager to sign up for Glee club. Not because they wanted to be part of something much bigger than them, but because they genuinely loved singing.

Sometimes, they reminded him too much of them. He could've sworn that Wade was the secret love-child of Mercedes and Kurt. He saw so much of Rachel in Harmony, right down to the ego and the dramatics. Joe reminded him in a way of Puck, and Rory—the foreign exchange student—of Sam. Sometimes he'd look at Sugar and see bits of Santana in her, or he'd glance at Nick and be instantly reminded of Artie. Wes reminded him an awful lot of Mike, uncomfortably so at times. It was as if they were all still there, as if they were there with him but in slightly varied forms.

But there had been one name on that sign-up sheet that he'd recognized, but he'd be damned if he remembered from where. It wasn't until the boy had auditioned that he realized where he'd seen him before: crying in the back of the room at Sam's funeral.

Blaine. The boy Sam had been involved with, the one who he'd gone to that fateful Sadie Hawkins Day dance with.

He'd come back to face Sam's ghost.

From in the afterlife, Sam pressed his hands to the invisible barriers separating them from the real world. "Blaine," he murmured.

"He must really still love you," Quinn whispered.

"I still love him," Sam turned toward her with tear-filled eyes.

"You know the rules," Rachel said. "We can't interfere with our old lives."

"I know," Sam sniffled. "God, this being dead thing sucks."

They were never forgotten, though. All of the people who they thought wouldn't cry, cried. All of the people who they thought wouldn't care, cared. All of the people who they thought wouldn't remember, remembered.

The eleven members of the William McKinley High School Suicide Pact.

**The End**


End file.
